<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>at the right time by elisela</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182804">at the right time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela'>elisela</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>serendipity [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Teaching</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:27:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been texting and talking for eight days now, Buck is absolutely infatuated with the guy, and he’s also—terrified. On some level, he knows Eddie must be conventionally attractive; he’d dated (or just slept with) Ben, after all, and Buck knows that Ben has a type. But he’s more than a little worried that he’ll look at Eddie and not feel anything, and then he’ll spend the entire eleven hour flight freaking out about it. </p><p>He stares down at his phone, flips over to his messages and scans through them. It’s just after midnight back home, which means that Maddie’s asleep, and she’s the only one who really knows about Eddie, so he can’t even attempt Hen (who, unlike Chim, would immediately reach out to someone she knew at another station to get every last bit of information) or, God forbid, Ana, who might actually kill him for jumping from Ben to Eddie so fast.</p><p>But on the off-chance she wouldn’t—she would definitely call him a coward for not picking up. </p><p>He calls Eddie back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ana Flores/Lena Bosko, Evan "Buck" Buckley &amp; Ana Flores, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Original Male Character(s), Lena Bosko &amp; Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>serendipity [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901377</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>364</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>at the right time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/gifts">spinningincircles</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SO I am back with yet another TikTok inspired fic which somehow turned into the teacher!Buck AU I always wanted to write but never had a real plot for, and once again despite saying "I'm keeping this under 5k" ... 18k happened, and then another 6k happened because I wasn't happy with it and Lauren and Mads had incredible ideas that I used shamelessly.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He really needs to stop smiling at his phone.</p><p>“Mr. B has a crush!” Ella sing-songs as she comes into the room, and Buck locks his phone with a hasty press to the side button and drops it onto the counter next to him, sliding off easily. “Ooh who is it, Mr. B? Someone we know? Is it Mr. Ty? Ms. Flores?”</p><p>“You’re supposed to be in science,” Buck says, arching an eyebrow. “And it’s not a crush, it’s—it’s not a crush.”</p><p>“I got kicked out, I told you, that dude hates me. He said to go to the office but the office told me to go back to class, and I’m not going back there.” She crosses her arms over her chest and mirrors his expression, but sticks her tongue out at the end. “He’s an—”</p><p>“Rethink that for me,” Buck interrupts. As long as he doesn’t let her <em>say</em> it, they don’t need to have a talk about it, and he needs to get to the office for his post-evaluation meeting so he really doesn’t have time to talk to her about how even if Mr. Allen <em>is</em> an asshole (and Buck wholeheartedly agrees that he is), she can’t go around saying that in school. “Come on, let’s go see if you can help out Mrs. Meyer’s class.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess that would be okay,” she says, but her face lights up; it always does when he offers to let her help out the younger students. Rose, like him, never minds extra students coming into her class, and he uses her as a buddy classroom frequently. “So if it’s not a crush, is it a girlfriend? Boyfriend?”</p><p>He sighs. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “If we can get through the rest of the day without you getting kicked out of any other classes, I’ll tell you before dismissal.”</p><p>She holds her pinky out. “Deal,” she says. “I got this, you’ll see. I’ll even read in group today.”</p><p>He presses a hand to his chest and pretends to stagger into the wall. “<em>No</em>,” he gasps, winking at her. “An email from Mrs. Adams confirming that along with a copy of this month’s reading level assessment will even get you their name,” he says, and she laughs before disappearing down the hallway that will take her to the kindergarten rooms. </p><p>True to her word, there’s an email waiting in his inbox five minutes before dismissal, and he calls her up before he clicks on it, drumming his hands on the desk theatrically and she looks at him, trying to hide her pride. “Level R!” he exclaims, leaning closer and peering at the screen. “From the girl who told me she was too stupid to read? Well. I’ve got you now, kiddo. <em>And</em> you read aloud? Pinch me, Ella, I think I’m dreaming.”</p><p>“Shut up,” she says, and then, “sorry, I didn’t—”</p><p>“I know the difference between teasing and being rude,” he says, “just remember that not everyone else does. But I’m a man of my word, so—he’s my boyfriend, and his name is Ben.”</p><p>“Mr. B has a boyfriend!” she announces to the class just as the bell rings. “Hey, Mr. B, can you show us a picture?”</p><p>“Sure can,” he says, shamelessly seizing the opportunity presented to him. “You go a week without getting kicked out of a specialist, and the picture is yours.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I could come visit you,” Buck offers, stretching his legs out and bumping Ben’s under the table. “Last day of school is June 14th, what if I come for two weeks in July?”</p><p>Ben reaches across the table for his hand, and Buck grins, leaning his head back against the booth as Ben’s fingers trace the lines of his palm. “That would be amazing,” Ben says, fingers skimming lightly up Buck’s wrist. “Have you ever been to London? I couldn’t take much time off, but you could keep yourself busy, love, couldn’t you?”</p><p>There’s a quick, fleeting feeling of disappointment in his gut, but he dismisses it; it’s not like he’s taken time off for Ben, and he can keep himself busy. Buck’s been used to being alone for awhile now, filling his weekends on his own—he’d termed it ‘dating himself’ until he’d accidentally used the phrase while talking to Maddie, who had sounded so sad when she’d responded to him that he’d immediately downloaded Tinder again, and happened to find Ben within his first few matches. “I’m sure I could find enough to do,” he says. “Want another drink?”</p><p>Ben glances at his watch and cringes. “I’m afraid I can’t, I’ve got a meeting in an hour with our team in Tokyo,” he says. He scratches his nails down Buck’s inner arm, and Buck shivers. “But I might be convinced to find <em>some</em> time back in my room, if you’re interested.”</p><p>Buck pulls his arm back and downs the rest of his beer. “Lead the way,” he says, and follows Ben out of the bar.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>You should have worn longer sleeves</em>.</p><p>Buck looks at the notebook that Ana tilts in his direction and looks down at his arm, feeling himself flush immediately. He yanks the sleeve of his polo down but there’s no give; the scratch marks Ben had left on his upper arm are still plainly visible. Christ, it’s a good thing none of his students had noticed; fifth graders are not shy with their questions, and he’s pretty sure any cover story would have been met with deep suspicion.</p><p>
  <em>Good date?</em>
</p><p>He glances up at the speaker at the front of the library, droning on about trauma—the third time he’d heard about adverse childhood experiences this year—and nods, reaching for his pen and slowly pulling her notebook, blank except for the notes to him, in front of him. <em>Did you ever set up a date with that guy?</em></p><p><em>I said he was cute, not that I was going to date him</em>, she writes quickly. He envies her; even at a scrawl, her handwriting is neat and precise. <em>He’s a parent, that’s breaking a million boundaries</em>.</p><p><em>So wait until next year</em>.</p><p>He doesn’t need to look to know she’s rolling her eyes. <em>How many times have you gone</em>— there’s a cough to their left, and Buck looks over and smiles guiltily at their associate principal, who’s looking over at them with a frown, and refocuses his eyes, but not his attention, back to the front. He knows Ana’s worried about him—unlike Maddie, she’d seen nothing wrong with his dating himself phase, and had questioned the speed at which he’d fallen for Ben. <em>“Just be careful,”</em> she’d said, repeatedly, as he spent several days extolling Ben’s many virtues. <em>“Make sure you know you both want the same things.”</em></p><p>Well—he and Ben, they haven’t done a whole lot of <em>talking</em>, but the chemistry is certainly there. Though he lives in London, Ben spends a few weeks in Los Angeles every year for his work as an advertising executive, and Buck considers himself lucky that they’d both been on Tinder at the same time. They’re really only gone on a handful of actual dates, but Ben texts him when he’s not in meetings and calls him early in the morning, and Buck’s pretty sure he’s half in love with the guy already. </p><p>“My team’s going to Rosa’s for happy hour,” Ana says when the speaker finally finishes and they’re packing up. “Want to come? It’s not the same without you.”</p><p>“You’ve been saying that for two years now,” he says. “I’ll come for one drink, but Ben said he wanted to go rock climbing so we were going to do that tonight.”</p><p>“If all we get is one drink, I’ll take it,” she says, looping her arm through his. “Now, before we get there, I wanted to talk to you about moving some of my kids up to your reading group, I think they’d do well with the challenge. You have room for two more? Kevin and Chris, very sweet boys, you’d love them.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He spends the next few weeks spending all his free time with Ben, and after Ben leaves, throws himself back into work. The end of the year is crazy enough as it is; so many of his kids make growth near the end that he feels like all he does is run assessments constantly which is tiring enough without him staying up late to work around an eight hour time difference in order to talk to his boyfriend. Buck’s not willing to keep his phone out to text while he should be teaching, so he sacrifices sleep instead, staying awake until 2:00am each night on the phone. </p><p>“Did you buy tickets yet, love?” Ben asks one night, and Buck yawns as he says no. “You should. I can send you money for it, come on. I’m dying to see you.”</p><p>The kids call him out on it—they always do, they’re too observant and nosy to <em>not</em> notice the dark circles under his eyes and the way he always has a fresh cup of coffee when they come back from their second recess. He trades information for meeting learning targets; it’s something a few of the older teachers look down on, but Buck has always felt like allowing them to learn things about his personal life only strengthens the relationships he has with them. So he lets them know that Ben lives in London when Ella moves up another reading level, tells a funny story about his kayak turning over on a date when the class average for their math test is above 85%, and makes a deal that he’ll allow them to pick two activities for him to do in London (recorded and posted to his classroom Facebook page) if they can go an entire week with no absences.</p><p>“Mr. B, you should see some ghosts when you’re in London,” Kevin says at the end of their reading group one day. “My Mom says there are probably ghosts in the churches because they’re <em>super</em> old.”</p><p>“My abuela says there are ghosts,” Chris adds, and soon enough the rest of the group is chiming in.</p><p>“Find me a church to visit with ghosts, then,” he says, dismissing his students to pack up, and waves his hand towards the door for Chris and Kevin. “Don’t forget to practice your sight words, you’re going to be reading them to me tomorrow, okay? And tell Ms. Flores that I want my red stapler back, I know she took it.”</p><p>Kevin wanders off immediately, but Chris lingers, playing with the edge of his book. “Mr. B? My Dad doesn’t have Facebook, but I want to see your videos, too.”</p><p>“He doesn’t have Facebook?” Buck almost can’t believe that, and it must show in his voice, because Chris giggles.</p><p>“He had one but my aunties bother him too much, he said.”</p><p>“Well,” he says, “if you can be patient and wait a little longer, you can find me on your first day of fifth grade next year and I’ll show them to you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think you should go,” Ana says, bringing her margarita towards her and taking a drink. “It’s just very suspicious, isn’t it? He has all these meetings suddenly and can’t talk as much, but he’s being tagged on instagram more often with a bunch of different people? Buck. Did you two ever have a talk about your relationship?”</p><p>“Not—exactly,” he says. He’d tried, twice, but Ben had distracted him with—well. “They’re just his friends, Ana, it’s not like he’s kissing any of them or anything, all these pictures look like the ones we take.”</p><p>She raises an eyebrow at him and taps at her phone, open to a picture of the two of them on her Instagram, Buck’s arm around her shoulder, their heads together, grinning. “Read the comments,” she says. </p><p>He doesn’t need to—he’d left one of his own when she’d posted it. “Just because your friends think we’re together—”</p><p>“My <em>mother</em> thought we were together,” she says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve had a rough few years—”</p><p>He groans. “Do you have to bring that up every time you think I’m making a mistake?”</p><p>“Yes,” she says promptly. “Buck, I know losing Abby was hard on you, and losing your dream job was even worse, and I just don’t want you to walk into school next year looking like you did when you started student teaching. You were happy before Ben, weren’t you? I just want you to stay that way.”</p><p>He grabs her hand across the table and squeezes. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I promise. Even if it turns out he’s seeing other people—I’ll just talk to him about it and we’ll clear it up.”</p><p>She frowns. “You know you can call me whenever you need.”</p><p>He stays at the bar too late, but his flight isn’t until 9:00pm the next day so it doesn’t matter when he stumbles out of an uber at half past three in the morning, scrolling through the photos that Ben has been tagged in on instagram. There are new ones, and he realizes with a start that several of them show Ben in Los Angeles, which is impossible, because he’s in London. He almost texts Ana, but he knows what she would say, so he doesn’t—the pictures are probably older, anyway, just posted at a later date. He’s done it plenty, posting pictures of Maddie and him weeks after they were taken, so he tells himself he’s being silly to worry.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“This is just a really bad time, Evan,” Ben says, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry, love, but I have a deadline to meet and I didn’t anticipate this at all when you booked your flight, there’s really nothing I can do about it. I promise, I’ll take you out tonight.”</p><p>Buck isn’t great at relationships, but he’s pretty sure that being as patient as he has been for five days is not only being a good boyfriend, it’s crossing the line into being a foolish one, because he’s heard the same thing each day, like a broken record. But he doesn’t have a lot he can do about it; despite his insistence that he would pay for Buck’s flight, Ben hadn’t, and Buck’s on a fairly limited budget and he doesn’t want to think about what a last minute hotel at the height of tourist season would cost him. </p><p>To his surprise, Ben actually does take him out that night; they go out to dinner and walk along the Thames, and Buck isn’t surprised in the least when Ben rolls away from him in bed afterwards and says, “I have a meeting with Tokyo in an hour. These time differences are killing me.”</p><p>He bites his tongue, nods, and grabs his phone when he hears the front door close. A message request from instagram pops up, and he taps on it accidentally while trying to open the phone app to call Ana; he almost closes it out, but Ben’s name catches his eye and he stops.</p><p>
  <em>ed89: I’m sorry to tell you this man, but Ben was in LA with me the day before you went to London. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>ed89: Not just me, either, and I only know because they told me so I’m just trying to pass the favor along. Sorry.</em>
</p><p>Well, it was nothing he didn’t already deeply suspect, nothing Ana hadn’t warned him about fifty-two times.</p><p>
  <em>mrbuckley: thanks for the heads up. Kinda figured when he was too busy to take me out the last few nights. Stuck here until my flight out next week though.</em>
</p><p>He doesn’t expect to hear from them again—there are no pictures on their page, nothing they’re tagged in—but when he wakes up in the morning there’s a phone number along with a message that it’s someone who owns a hotel in the city and owes him a favor, and when Buck calls them out of curiosity, they give him an address and insist that his stay will be no charge.</p><p>Ben walks in the door when he’s halfway through his tea—no coffee in the house should be a crime, he thinks—wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist. “Let’s go back to bed for awhile, then I’ll take you out to lunch. It’s been such a crazy night.”</p><p>He hums in the back of his throat. “Is that because of the meeting, or the other people you’re sleeping with?” He doesn’t stick around long enough to hear Ben’s excuses, but it quickly turns into anger and Ben yelling at him to get out when he spots Buck’s packed bag on the bed, and he does so gladly. </p><p>
  <em>mrbuckley: what’d you do that they owed you that kind of favor, save their life?</em>
</p><p>It’s a joke, but it turns out to be near the truth; Buck checks into the hotel and hears all about the firefighter that had saved their grandson’s life when he fell down a pipe, nearly drowning when he’d chosen to cut his own line in order to buy himself more time to get to Hayden. He vaguely recalls Chim talking about that a few months ago, and a few hours later Eddie confirms that he works at the 136 in Los Angeles. Buck almost tells him that he’d been a firefighter as well, but he’s pretty sure that will lead to admitting he was the unlucky one who’d gotten caught in the truck bombing, which is never a story that ends well for him, so he keeps it quiet. </p><p>He expects the conversation to stop then, but Eddie continues texting him throughout the day and when he wakes up in the morning, there’s another phone number sitting in his messages. </p><p><em>ed89: I only made this to message you and I’m going to delete it before my sisters find it and use it to annoy me. I’d like to keep talking to you, though</em>.</p><p>Ana calls him later that day, right as he’s getting off the London Eye (one of the attractions his students picked out) and ending his Facebook live video. She fusses over him when he tells her about Ben and getting a hotel, and he starts to tell her about Eddie and—stops. He knows she’s just trying to look out for him, but Eddie seems like a good guy, and he doesn’t want her to start making it out to be something it’s not. So he just tells her he got a good deal on a hotel and is definitely staying the rest of the week, and no, he’s sure he doesn’t need her to call her cousin who works at the airline to try to change his flight, he’ll really be okay on his own. </p><p>“If you’re sure,” she says, and then, “my cousin’s getting married in Cabo on the Friday after you get back and my sister’s kid just broke his leg so she can’t go, do you want to be my plus one? I’ve got a hotel room and everything, you just need a plane ticket.”</p><p>“This is definitely going to confuse your mom,” he says, and she laughs. </p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says. “I have to run, but be safe. Call me tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Four days and roughly a thousand texts with Eddie later, Buck is pretty sure he’s in love with a guy he’s never met or seen a picture of.</p><p>“You do this <em>all the time</em>,” Maddie says when he calls her. “Evan, do I need to remind you that you’re currently in a foreign country <em>by yourself</em> because you were in love with an asshole who was just using you for sex?”</p><p>“Wow, don’t pull your punches or anything,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t in love with him, I just—well, I thought I was, but I wasn’t.” He scrolls through his pictures of the Tower of London, deleting everything but what he’ll post on Facebook for the kids. He’ll have to make sure to save these ones to show Chris—he wonders if he’ll be in his class when summer ends. Maybe he can text the secretary and make a little suggestion—</p><p>“Howie says you’re an idiot,” Maddie relays, but he hears Chim protesting in the background. “Did you say this guy was a firefighter? What’s his name? What station does he work at? Howie can ask about him for you.”</p><p>“I’m not doing that,” Chim yells. “I don’t care who you’re sleeping with, Buck.”</p><p>He pauses. Did he tell Maddie that Eddie was a firefighter? He must have, and he should probably start keeping his mouth shut or she’ll send him a dossier on the guy, complete with social security number, by the end of the day. “I’m not sleeping with him,” he says. “Look, Maddie, I appreciate the concern but I’m not even upset about Ben—”</p><p>“Because you jumped right to this other guy,” Maddie interrupts. “What do you even know about him? Has he told you <em>anything</em> at all? Maybe he’s married, maybe he has a girlfriend, maybe he’s just pretending to be a firefighter—”</p><p>He cuts her off with a heavy sigh. “Thank you for always trying to protect me,” he says, “but I’m going to go now. I love you, tell Chim I love him and give him a big, sloppy wet kiss on the cheek for me.”</p><p>He hangs up before she can say anything else, checks the time and bounces off the bed, straightening his shirt. Eddie should be awake soon, and he’d suggested a phone call before he went to bed, and Buck’s been dying to hear his voice all day. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eddie’s voice sounds like sunshine. </p><p>It’s a stupid thing to think, he knows that, but it’s warm and golden over the phone line, easy to hear the tones of amusement and exasperation as he tells Buck about his last shift, and it wraps around him like a blanket as he sits outside, picking at the remains of his dinner. He’d been pleased when Eddie had suggested they both go get something to eat; coffee and breakfast to get him through the day, and Buck skipped lunch in favor of doing the last minute tour of the Tower of London to get as much info for his kids as he could, so an early dinner was fine with him. He’d posted the pictures a little over an hour ago, right before Eddie had called him, and the comments have been rolling in steadily—including one from Ella’s mom, a kissing face emoji, on a selfie he posted. </p><p>He deleted the comment as soon as he got the notification.</p><p>“So this woman is freaking out over the carbon monoxide readings, insisting that our equipment must be wrong—” Buck snorts, because he remembers those calls, the people who thought they knew better than anyone in a uniform did<strong>, “</strong>—and her husband is yelling at us because she’s upset, and in the middle of this Lena just up and walks away and a minute later we hear a fucking piano being played, and she’s just … sitting there on this baby grand the couple had in the next room, banging out Coldplay. Buck, I’ve worked with this crew for two years and I never knew she played the piano. I don’t think any of us did. Stopped ‘em from fighting though, but now the guys want to chip in and get a piano for the station and I don’t want to be listening to Coldplay every day, so I don’t know.”</p><p>“Did you ask her if she knew anything other than Coldplay?” he asks, dragging a fry through curry ketchup and popping it into his mouth. “She must, no one knows Coldplay and <em>nothing</em> else.”</p><p>“I was too worried,” Eddie responds. Buck hears him take a sip of his coffee and in the background, a horn honks. “What if the only other shit she knows is the same and I’m stuck listening to vaguely emo songs for the rest of my shifts? I’d have to transfer, and I really don’t like that. So much of this job is the people you work with—I’m sure it’s the same for teaching, isn’t it? But these guys are great. I don’t think I’d get as lucky anywhere else.”</p><p><em>You could join the 118</em>, he thinks. He’d worried, back when it became clear that he’d never be able to work in the field again, that he’d lose the friendships he’d found there, but if anything they’re deeper now. He goes to Bobby’s twice a month for dinner, Hen had helped him throughout his teaching program and student teaching, and Chim—well, Chim is his brother-in-law, so Buck sees more of him than he did when they were working together. He still sees them regularly, still talks to them just as much. It was comforting to know that Bobby hadn’t been lying when he’d called them a family, that he was still wanted somewhere even when the rest of his life was falling apart. “Yeah, it’s like that for teaching,” he says. “There are a few coworkers I don’t get along with, but none of them are on my team, so I only have to suffer through meetings with them.”</p><p>“Sounds like our B shift,” Eddie laughs. “We overlap a bit but there’s this one guy, Jensen—I’m not sure how anyone likes that guy—”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><strong>Eddie:</strong> You at the airport?</p><p>He’s barely finished hitting the send button on his reply when a call pops up—FaceTime. He stares at it so long that he misses it, the screen fading to black before he snaps out of it and tries to jab at the green button to accept. They’ve been texting and talking for eight days now, Buck is absolutely infatuated with the guy, and he’s also—terrified. On some level, he knows Eddie must be conventionally attractive; he’d dated (or just slept with) Ben, after all, and Buck knows that Ben has a type. But he’s more than a little worried that he’ll look at Eddie and not <em>feel</em> anything, and then he’ll spend the entire eleven hour flight freaking out about it. </p><p>He stares down at his phone, flips over to his messages and scans through them. It’s just after midnight back home, which means that Maddie’s asleep, and she’s the only one who really knows about Eddie, so he can’t even attempt Hen (who, unlike Chim, would immediately reach out to someone she knew at another station to get every last bit of information) or, God forbid, Ana, who might actually kill him for jumping from Ben to Eddie so fast.</p><p>But on the off-chance she wouldn’t—she would definitely call him a coward for not picking up. </p><p>He calls Eddie back.</p><p>It’s not the best picture; Eddie’s clearly outside, poorly lit by the sodium streetlights, but his face breaks into a smile and Buck doesn’t need a lot of light to tell that he’s gorgeous. Holy <em>shit</em> is he gorgeous. </p><p>“Wow,” he says, and immediately wants to hang up, throw his phone away, and start a new life. <em>Wow</em>? Jesus Christ.</p><p>Eddie laughs. “Wow yourself,” he says. “I never look that good when I get up at 4:00am for the airport.” Buck sees his own cheeks redden in the small screen and ducks his head, smiling, but before he can say anything there’s a noise behind Eddie and his head dips down, someone’s hand digging into his hair. “Jesus,” Eddie says to someone off camera, “I’d ask if I could get some privacy—sorry, Buck, my friend here is a little overly involved in my life—”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ve got a few of those,” he says, and Eddie grins at him. He tries not to let his heart beat out of his chest, but it’s a near thing.</p><p>“She’s well meaning,” he says. “It might have been pointed out to me that you didn’t know what I looked like and I shouldn’t, uh, ask you on a date until you did, so—if you’re interested, I was wondering—shut <em>up</em>, Lena, goddamn it—I’ve got tickets to a baseball game on Friday, would you like to go with me?”</p><p>“Yes,” he says immediately, then cringes. “Wait, this Friday? God, I’m so sorry Eddie, I’m going with a friend to a wedding down in Cabo and she’ll kill me if I ditch her. But—any other day. I’ll be back in L.A. on Sunday night, so just—literally any other day. Anything. Just—” he forces himself to close his mouth and hopes like hell he sounds eager and not desperate. “I’m sorry,” he says again.</p><p>Someone’s laughing behind Eddie, and Eddie’s mouth is twisted into an amused smile, despite the glare he throws over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I work Monday—I told you about our shifts, right? 24 on, 72 off? So maybe Wednesday or Thursday?”</p><p>“Either,” Buck says. “Both. Yes.”</p><p>“Okay,” Eddie says, and his smile softens into something more genuinely happy. “It’s a date.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ana’s cheeks are flushed, her hair messily gathered on top of her head, and she covers Buck’s tipsy laughter with a hand over his mouth as they sneak around a corner, a pitcher of margaritas and two glasses stolen off the bar clutched in their hands, a beach blanket draped over her arm. He leads her down to the beach and she spreads the blanket out, reaches for the glasses pinched between his fingers, and pats the space next to her.</p><p>“Your family is something else,” he says, dropping down, holding the full pitcher carefully. “They like me, right? Even though I keep telling them we’re not dating?”</p><p>“Trust me, my mom is very disappointed,” Ana says, holding the glasses out while he pours. She throws hers back quickly and holds the empty glass out to him again. “You know the drill, <em>you’re almost thirty, you need to settle down</em>,<em> am I even going to get grandchildren before I die</em>? I'd apologize for you not understanding half of what they’re saying, but you’re better off for it.”</p><p>“I know Spanish,” he says, and she laughs. “Fine, I know how to order food.”</p><p>“You keep telling yourself that it’s the same,” she says, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Don’t worry, they’ve all been very complimentary about you. My mom hopes that our children have your eyes.”</p><p>He wraps his arm around her shoulders and laughs. “Me too,” he teases. “You know, if you’re worried about settling down, you could always give Chris’ dad a call. He’s not in your class anymore—”</p><p>“You’re as bad as they are,” she says, elbowing him gently. “I don’t know, Buck, I just said I thought he was cute, not that anything would come from it. I’m allowed to think a guy is attractive.”</p><p>“You said that you thought that he thought that <em>you</em> were cute,” he says; he trips over the words and frowns, trying to figure out if it makes any sense. “He probably does, you are <em>very</em> pretty. You have <em>very</em> nice hair.” He lifts the hand that’s around her shoulders and reaches for it, twisting a curl around his finger. “It’s very—pretty.”</p><p>“And this is why my mom thinks we’re dating,” Ana says, pouring them another drink. “Enough about me. You’ve been pretty happy for the last few days—you’re not still talking to Ben, are you?”</p><p>“Nah, he was a dick,” he says. He thinks, for a moment, that he should tell her about Eddie, but he knows she’ll give him the same lecture that Maddie had about infatuation and falling for someone he hasn’t even met yet, and he’s too tipsy to defend himself, so he just says, “why don’t you wanna ask—”</p><p>“If I promise to think about it, will you drop it?”</p><p>“Okay,” he says, “but I’m gonna make sure to find him on back to school night so I can tell you if I think he’s cute.”</p><p>“He’ll take your breath away,” Ana says, and she turns her face into his shoulder. “God, okay, I’ll think about it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Halfway through the date, Buck gives in to the urge to pinch himself just to make sure he’s really there. Eddie’s a goddamn dream—he’d picked Buck up, insisted he buy him dinner at the game despite also paying for the tickets, and although he was clearly into baseball, focused almost all his attention on Buck while they were talking. When he reached over and slipped his hand into Buck’s after the 7th inning stretch, Buck surreptitiously pinched the outside of his thigh and—yep. Somehow, he’s not actually dreaming this.</p><p>“Didn’t you say you were a veteran?” he asks quietly after the announcement comes on for all active duty and veterans to stand, and Eddie remains firmly seated.</p><p>“I did,” Eddie says slowly, “but this—I don’t like all this. It’s a long story, I just felt like I had nothing else I could really do with my life. Uh—”</p><p>Well, he knew he would make a mess of things eventually. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “you don’t have to say anything else, I shouldn’t have brought it up. Were you a firefighter in the military? One of my roommates in college was in ROTC and that’s what he wanted to do.”</p><p>“I was a medic,” Eddie says, glancing over when the batter swings and misses. “Honestly, I went through the academy because the pay for medics is shit, but it’s decent if you’re a firefighter with a paramedic certification.”</p><p>He almost laughs; he knows the pay struggle very well. He made more as a firefighter than he does as a teacher, despite working far more hours now than he ever did with the department. He’s not sure what to say—never does when Eddie starts talking about being a firefighter. Eventually, he knows, he’ll tell him about how he got into teaching, and if he pretends he knows nothing about the job—well. That would be a little weird, later. But he can’t tell him yet. Every firefighter in L.A. county knows who Buck is, knows what happened to him, and they all react the same way when they realize who they’re talking to.</p><p>He really doesn’t think he could stand to see the look of pity on Eddie’s face just yet.</p><p>He’s saved by the crack of the bat and suddenly, everyone around them is on their feet and Eddie is pulling him up by their joined hands, then pushing him to the side and—</p><p>“I have the worst luck,” Buck says, looking at the baseball in Eddie’s hand.</p><p>Eddie laughs. “Some people consider it a good thing to catch a foul ball, you know,” he teases. “You want this?”</p><p>He almost says yes; sentimentally, he’d love something significant from their first date, but there’s a kid at the end of the aisle with a disappointed look on his face, and he nudges Eddie and looks over again. </p><p>Eddie follows his gaze, then looks back, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “You’re a softie with your students, aren’t you,” he says, and presses the ball into Buck’s hand. “Go give it to him, then, make his night.” </p><p>When Buck squeezes his way back along the seats and they sit down, Eddie settles his arm around Buck’s shoulder and they stay that way for the rest of the game, Eddie’s thumb sweeping along the curve of his neck, palm warm against his thin cotton shirt. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eddie’s mouth is hot under his, his hair soft against Buck’s palm where he cradles his hand between Eddie’s head and the wall, lost in the feeling of Eddie’s teeth scraping against his lips. He moves the hand he’s got on Eddie’s waist up slowly, dragging his thumb until it slides underneath Eddie’s shirt and against his skin, until Eddie lets out a soft groan against his lips and his hand tightens on Buck’s arm. </p><p>“We can skip the beach,” Buck murmurs against his lips, moving back just enough to be heard, still close enough to breathe Eddie in. They’ve been on several dates over the last month, text and call each other daily, and Buck’s been trying to take things slow, to take cues from Eddie, but he’s very, very willing to move past hours-long makeout sessions and finally get his hands—and mouth—on Eddie’s body. </p><p>His words seem to do the opposite of what he intends, though; Eddie pulls back, arms going more rigid, and he pushes Buck away slightly. “No, the beach sounds good,” he says. “Not that this isn’t—let’s just go. There’s a sandcastle competition at Hermosa Beach and I thought it might be fun to check it out.”</p><p>Buck nods and ducks back in to kiss him one more time as he lets go of Eddie’s waist. “Yeah, that sounds cool,” he says. “You want me to drive?”</p><p>Eddie hesitates for a long moment before he says, “no, I asked you, I’ll drive,” and Buck laughs.</p><p>“You always ask me,” he says. “We kind of work around your schedule, Eds, so that’s not really a fair assessment, but okay, you can drive. I’m buying lunch though, no arguments.” He locks his front door and starts off down the hallway, starting to tell Eddie a story about the older couple he’d seen arguing outside the bakery on his run that morning; Eddie laughs in the right places, but a few seconds too late, and the sudden change in his demeanor makes Buck pause by the door to the truck. “Hey,” he says, frowning, because there’s really only one thing it can be attributed to, “I’m sorry if I was being pushy, I’m totally fine with waiting and I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable at all.”</p><p>Eddie watches him quietly, and when Buck stops talking, he blows out a small breath. “I, uh, haven’t been completely honest with you,” he says, and Buck feels his stomach drop. </p><p>Fuck, he knew this was too good to be true. Isn’t that what Maddie had been saying? That Eddie’s availability doesn’t match up with his job schedule—which Buck knows well—that Buck needed to be careful to not project perfection onto someone he’s only known for six weeks?</p><p>“Eddie, it’s okay,” he offers. “We never said we weren’t seeing other people, and—”</p><p>“Wait,” Eddie says, giving him a confused look, “you’re seeing other people?”</p><p>“No?” Buck squints at him. “Aren’t you? Isn’t that what you were going to tell me? You don’t want to sleep together because—”</p><p>“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, but he’s smiling a little as he shakes his head. “No, Buck—I have a kid. I know you’re a teacher and all but it’s different when you date someone with a kid and—Lena’s been telling me that I’m an asshole for not saying anything before but it was kind of nice to not only be seen as a dad for once. So I hope that’s okay with you and if not—”</p><p>“I love kids,” Buck says, grinning. “You don’t need to worry about that, Eddie. And don’t start worrying about introducing us, either, I’m not gonna push you, trust me. I’ve taught kids who watch their parents cycle through partners and it can be brutal. You wanna tell me about—uh, them?”</p><p>He doesn’t expect the way Eddie pushes him up against the truck and kisses him, but he’s certainly not going to argue with it, not when he can wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist and kiss him back. </p><p>“My son’s a great kid,” Eddie says after he takes a step back. “But—this sounds bad, I know it does—I’m not really ready to make this all about him yet.”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound bad,” Buck says, using the hand he still has fisted in Eddie’s shirt to pull him in and kiss him again. “It sounds like you need time that’s just about you, and that’s not anything to feel bad about.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Eddie,” he whines, “I have to be done with this in two hours and there’s <em>no way</em> I can be done with this in two hours. It’s cruel to schedule an entire day of professional development on the same day as Meet the Teacher anyway, I can’t <em>believe</em>—”</p><p>“Hey, we have that tonight, too,” Eddie says, and Buck sighs.</p><p>“Of course you do, everyone in Los Angeles does. That’s what happens the <em>night before school</em>. God. <em>Eddie</em>. I’m never going to be done with this in time!”</p><p>Eddie laughs over the phone. “Buck, is this even something that your families are going to notice?”</p><p>“<em>I’ll</em> notice,” he says, and when Ana appears in his doorway holding a cup of iced coffee, he brightens. “I gotta go. Text me later?” He hangs up as Eddie’s laughing and weaves his way around the piles of stuff in his classroom, heading to the door. “You’re my very best friend,” he says, hugging her and snatching the cup from her grasp. “The <em>very</em> best. I owe you so much.”</p><p>Ana laughs. “Come on, let’s get down to the library so we’re not stuck in the front.”</p><p>He follows her down the hallway and when they pass her classroom, he pokes his head into the partially-open door and sighs. “Are you serious,” he says, looking at the perfectly put together room. “Can you not be perfect for once?”</p><p>“Aw, Buck,” she says, looping her arm through his, “if I weren’t so perfect, who would help you rush to put your room together when this training is over?”</p><p>“We’re getting married,” he says, pulling her close. “Call your mom and your sisters. I’m thinking a nice spring wedding. Twelve kids. We’ll name them after every other letter of the alphabet: Adrian, Carlos, Elphaba—”</p><p>He spends his professional development time doing what every other teacher in the room is doing: pretending to listen to the speaker while he writes the world’s longest to-do list, then steals Ana’s highlighters and prioritizes by color. They grab the lunch provided to them—sandwiches from a local deli, bags of chips, and cans of soda—and take them back to his classroom, taking bites between moving desks and finishing up labeling all the supplies he has in piles.</p><p>“Oh, no Chris this year?” Ana says, looking through his class list. “I asked for him to be placed with you, that’s unfortunate.”</p><p>Buck shrugs. “They didn’t want him in the same class as Jason, and you know how it goes—<em>Jason needs a strong male role model</em>,” he mimics. “I wouldn’t mind them being together but I guess Chris’ dad was the one who asked for them to be separated so admin won’t go against that.”</p><p>“Honestly, I don’t blame him,” Ana says, reaching across him for a stapler. “He’s a little overprotective sometimes, but Chris was having a hard time with that situation—well, you know, this is where he’d come when he needed to get away from all of that.”</p><p>“I know,” he says. “I’m just bummed, he’s a great kid. I do have Kevin, though, so thanks for him. So—are you going to try to track down Chris’ dad tonight? Ask him out?”</p><p>“Yeah, I think so,” Ana says, and Buck drops the stack of notebooks he’s holding and turns to grin at her. “Oh, shut up,” she laughs. “Crap—we were supposed to be back five minutes ago, let’s go.”</p><p>“You’re very pretty when you blush,” he says, nudging her with his elbow. “So even if you get all flustered, he’ll probably just be thinking about how gorgeous you are.”</p><p>“God,” she says, shaking her head, “you know the two new teachers already think we’re together? Do you think you can manage to be professional while we’re here?”</p><p>“You’re my work wife,” he says, shrugging. “Besides, you <em>are</em> pretty, that’s not my fault. I’m just pointing it out.”</p><p>He rewrites his to-do list during the afternoon session, pretends to read the assigned article on his laptop while he sends parent packets to the printer in the work room, and re-reads the IEPs for his special education students because he knows from experience that mentioning specific accommodations always puts their parents at ease. There’s an hour gap between the end of the training and the beginning of Meet the Teacher, which he spends frantically arranging the last of his furniture and setting his freshly printed packets on the table by the door. </p><p>“Hey,” he says, catching Ana by the wrist before she walks out the door, “you really are beautiful, but you’re also the most amazing person I know, and if he doesn’t see that, it’s his loss, okay?”</p><p>She stretches up and hugs him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, I can always marry you,” she says, and winks at him before she walks away.</p><p>The alarm on his phone buzzes, indicating he only has five minutes left, and he turns it off and checks his texts—one from Bobby, another few from Maddie, and a picture from Eddie of a child’s room and a kid-shaped lump underneath a comforter decorated with planets.</p><p><strong>Eddie</strong>: he’s not ready for summer to be over.<br/>
<strong>Buck</strong>: hope he likes his teacher! Let me know how it goes.<br/>
<strong>Eddie</strong>: do you guys expect us to dress up for this stuff?<br/>
<strong>Buck</strong>: you better not, I already have to fight people off when you’re dressed down. </p><p>Eddie sends him a selfie a minute later, and Buck saves it immediately and sends him ten heart-eye emojis back before he can think about it. </p><p>He’s always nervous before his families come in and tonight is no exception, but it goes as well as it always does and towards the end of the night he hears Chris’ crutches outside the door before his cheerful voice says, “Mr. B!” and he’s standing in front of Buck, beaming. “How was your trip? I asked Dad to get Facebook to see your pictures and he said no because my aunties know too much about his life as it is.”</p><p>Buck laughs. “It was great, buddy. You want to see them now?” </p><p>“No, I have to go, Dad’s talking to Ms. Flores and he doesn’t know I left.”</p><p>“I’ll walk you back,” Buck says, because it’s about time he gets a chance to see this guy that Ana claims would take his breath away. They’re five feet out the door, though, when the intercom in his room crackles to life. </p><p>“Mr. B, can you please come to the office?”</p><p>… which is in the opposite direction from Ana’s classroom.</p><p>He sighs. “Go, Chris. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”</p><p>“See you!”</p><p>By the time he finishes up in the office—a former student who needed him to give permission for her to take honors classes at the middle school—and says goodbye to the family lingering in the hallway to talk to him one last time, the AP is making an announcement that the event is over, and Ana’s classroom is empty except for her. </p><p>One look at her face is all he needs to know how it went. “Come on, let’s get drinks at Rosa’s,” he says, folding her into a hug. “He’s probably a dick anyway, you don’t need that in your life.”</p><p>“Buck,” she protests, shaking her head. “He was really nice about it, actually. Said he was sorry but that he’s dating someone and it’s getting serious—I don’t think it was an excuse, he rambled a bit, you know?”</p><p>“I’ll kick his ass for you,” he says, kissing her forehead. “Want me to?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, laughing. “Thank you. Buy me a few drinks first, though, will you?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I feel like I hardly get to see you anymore,” Eddie says, and Buck pulls him down more firmly, hitching up one leg to bracket Eddie’s thigh as Eddie kisses down his neck, pausing to suck at a spot that always makes Buck moan. “Is this what the whole year will be like?”</p><p>“If I say yes,” Buck says, dragging his palms up Eddie’s back, “will you keep doing this every time we manage to go on a date?” He rolls his head to the side and Eddie hums, laughing softly when his stubbled cheek against the curve of Buck’s shoulder makes him shiver. </p><p>“If you say no,” Eddie says, “I’ll get to do this more often.”</p><p>He pushes himself up and kisses Buck, one hand moving to cup Buck’s chin, and Buck slides one hand around his neck and deepens the kiss while he grinds their hips together. “Promise?”</p><p>Eddie laughs. “Promise,” he says. “And—I, uh, maybe this is—fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “I brought condoms. Just. You know—”</p><p>“Because I didn’t have any last time?” Buck says, laughing. “So did I, but—I also went to the clinic the other day and—I didn’t want to send it to you in case your kid uses your phone—”</p><p>“Jesus, he does,” Eddie says, and he kisses Buck again before pushing himself up. “You’re a genius. Yeah. Show me.”</p><p>Buck looks up at Eddie, shirtless and straddling his thighs while his hands roam over Buck’s abs, and he almost forgets his own name as he watches Eddie pull his hands lower, fingers pressing into his skin until he gets to the button on Buck’s jeans and pops it open, holds Buck’s gaze as he drags the zipper down. “I kinda meant now,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he moves backwards, tugging Buck’s jeans down with him. “Unless you’d rather use one—”</p><p>“I—” is all Buck manages before Eddie leans down and kisses him right above the waistband of his boxers. He slides a hand through Eddie’s hair and tries to swallow, breathe, anything that would allow him to get his brain thinking about anything other than the feel of Eddie’s tongue on his skin. “Phone,” he manages. “It’s—somewhere.” He fumbles behind him, searching the arm of the couch, behind the cushions, anywhere he could reach, and after a moment, Eddie sits up and shakes his head. </p><p>“It’s right here,” he says, stretching out over Buck’s head and coming back with his phone in hand.</p><p>“Fuck,” Buck says, taking a deep breath as he tries to open the right app; a difficult task when Eddie’s tongue is running up his inner thigh, bunching the fabric of his boxers up. “Here, Jesus, here, would you look already—”</p><p>Eddie presses soft, open-mouthed kisses to his chest as he moves back up, and finally whispers, “it’s Edmundo,” in his ear before grabbing the phone. </p><p>Buck blinks. “Huh?”</p><p>“My name,” Eddie says, grinning at him before looking at the screen for a moment, and dropping the phone on the ground. “Not Jesus.”</p><p>“Oh for fuck’s—oh, <em>Jesus</em>.”</p><p>“Still wanna go out?” Eddie says later, voice muffled by the way his head is buried in Buck’s neck, lips still brushing against his skin. </p><p>“Could order pizza and stay in,” Buck suggests. He feels—not quite comfortable, the two of them squeezed onto his couch together, but peaceful as he rests his hands on Eddie, content to feel their bodies press together and let his heart rate return to normal, to sweep his thumbs up and down against Eddie’s hip bones as they lay together. “You wanna stay the night? I know you probably can’t, but—”</p><p>“Christopher’s at a sleepover,” Eddie says. “I’d like to stay. I’ve only seen you once since school started, gotta get all my time in while I can. Talking on the phone’s not the same.”</p><p>Buck turns towards him and presses a kiss to his hair before gently pushing him to sit up. “It’s just September and June that are crazy,” he says, looking around for his phone. Eddie leans down and grabs it off the floor, pressing it into his hand before he stands up and stretches, and Buck seriously considers pulling him down again as he takes in Eddie’s body towering over him. He settles for leaning forward and biting gently at his hip, looking up when Eddie’s hands squeeze his shoulders. “Sorry,” he says, “you’re just—beautiful, Eddie. Really.”</p><p>Eddie’s thumbs stroke over his cheek and up to his birthmark, and Buck closes his eyes when Eddie leans down and places a soft kiss right on top of it. “Buck,” Eddie says quietly, “sometimes, I’m not even sure how you’re real.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I know what you’re hiding,” Ana sings, and Buck drops the hot glue gun he’s holding and jumps about a foot in the air. </p><p>“Son of a <em>bitch</em>,” he says, looking at the streak of glue curling up from his brand new pair of dress shoes. “I just got these.”</p><p>“Oh, it’ll come off,” she says, coming into the room and kneeling in front of him, picking at the glue. “Anyway, walk down with me and tell me about this person you’re clearly hiding from me.”</p><p>“I’m—”</p><p>“Evan Buckley,” she sighs, and he reaches down for her hand to help her up, “don’t even try that. You’re smiling at your phone nonstop, your door is closed when you stay late—talking on the phone with whoever it is, I’m assuming—and you spent our <em>entire</em> staff meeting doodling hearts on your notebook. Honestly, I’m back in middle school right now. I swear I won’t judge you, I just want to know about them.”</p><p>“Him,” Buck says, following her out the door and down the hall. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, he actually messaged me while I was in London to warn me about Ben—”</p><p>“I like him already,” she says, smiling up at him. “How’s my lipstick?”</p><p>“Very bright,” he says, waving her through the door of the gymnasium in front of him. “Stunning.”</p><p>“Flatterer,” she says, joining the line for staff photos. “You’ve been seeing him for that long?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “He’s—Ana, I really like him. He’s amazing. But he’s divorced and he’s got a kid, so we’re taking it really slow and—god, I <em>really</em> like him, though.”</p><p>He nudges her in the direction of an open photographer and waits his turn; they let him check the monitor after they take his picture and he cringes and asks for a retake, straightening his tie and trying not to tilt his chin up so far the second time around. </p><p>“I take it that ‘taking it slow’ means you won’t be inviting him to the harvest festival to meet all of us,” she says as they walk back towards their classrooms.</p><p>“Ah, nope,” he says. “Definitely not ready to throw him to you guys yet. Maybe after Christmas break or something.”</p><p>She shoots him a faux-offended look. “A shame. What’s his name?”</p><p>“Eddie,” he says as the bell rings.</p><p>“Popular name,” she says over her shoulder, laughing as she disappears into her room. “Don’t forget that you’re picking us up lunch today!”</p><p>“Spaghetti from the cafeteria it is!” he yells back. He guesses it’s a popular name—they’re in Los Angeles, there are plenty of Eduardo’s—but he doesn’t see what that has to do with anything. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>On Wednesday, Buck wakes up with a sore throat and a sniffle. He ignores it until the final bell, then lays on his desk for five minutes before he summons the energy to check that he does, in fact, have emergency sub plans written and placed into the red folder on his desk, then lays back down until he thinks he can make it to the car. </p><p><strong>Buck</strong>: usually takes longer but I think I caught something from one of the kids. Going to bed early. Have a good shift. </p><p><strong>Eddie</strong>: you need anything?</p><p><strong>Eddie</strong>: hope you feel better. </p><p>He doesn’t see Eddie’s response until the next morning, when he wakes up cold, his head pounding. No fever, though, so he drags himself out of bed and stops at the drugstore before school, loading up on cough drops and Gatorade. </p><p>“I might need a sub tomorrow,” he mutters to Ana when she pokes her head in his door. </p><p>“I’d say,” she says. “Did you put in for one?”</p><p>He shakes his head and winces. “I will.”</p><p>“I’ll do it for you,” she says, giving his desk a wide berth and walking to the whiteboard and picking up a marker. “Did you take anything?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “It was orange. I’ll be alright.” He puts his head down and sighs, letting his eyes fall closed. He’s supposed to be prepping for his reading groups, but he has a feeling he’s going to end up telling them to read independently anyway. He feels Ana’s hand on his forehead a moment later, and she hums. </p><p>“I don’t know, Buck, I think you should probably go home,” she says. “You feel a little warm.”</p><p>“I can make it today,” he says. “It’s just a few hours.”</p><p>“Send a kid if you need anything,” she says. “I mean it.”</p><p>“K,” he mutters. He keeps his head down until the bell rings and pushes himself up just as the kids start trickling in. </p><p>“Mr. B’s sick so everybody better be good,” Kiara says immediately, her voice lowering into a hush. “Or Ms. Flores is gonna kick our butts.”</p><p>“Idle threats,” Buck says, and Kiara points at the note Ana left on the board. He looks at it and rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t say anything about kicking your butts. Get out your morning work, please.”</p><p>He is deeply appreciative that they’re quieter than normal, though, because by mid-day he feels like he’s going to die. “Alright,” he says with an hour to go, “pack up and get your reading books out, it’s officially a silent reading party. Heavy on the silent part. Reading can also include writing or drawing today, as long as it's <em>silent</em>.”</p><p>“We gonna have a guest teacher tomorrow?” Robert asks.</p><p>“You might have a guest teacher the rest of the year,” Buck says, sinking down into his chair. “Which one of you coughed on me while you were sick? I’m failing you.”</p><p>He’s out of the building the second the bell rings and barely manages to text Eddie before he falls into bed face first and fully dressed, canceling the date they had planned. He’d held out hope that DayQuil could work a miracle, but now all he wants to do is sleep this illness off for the next three days and pray that he’ll be well enough to go back to work on Monday. </p><p>He drifts in and out of an uneasy sleep as he watches the shadows grow longer on his walls, and there’s a knock on his door just before the sun sinks below the horizon. It takes him a few minutes to shuffle out of bed and down the stairs, and when he opens the door, Eddie is standing there. He stares at him, confused. “I thought I texted you,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “Sorry, Eds, I’m not—”</p><p>“You canceled, yeah,” Eddie says, reaching out and squeezing his arm. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything though, thought maybe I’d just keep you company for a few hours.”</p><p>“You’ll get sick,” Buck protests, but backs up when Eddie pushes him into the house and closes the door behind him. </p><p>“Have you taken anything? When?”</p><p>“This morning,” Buck says, and he sneezes before he can get his arm up to cover his mouth. “Eddie, you should go—”</p><p>“I’ll go when I know you’ll be okay,” Eddie says. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”</p><p>An hour later, he’s showered and has finished drinking the soup Eddie had poured into a mug for him, and is curled up in bed with his head pillowed on Eddie’s thigh while Eddie runs a hand through his hair. “Eddie,” he whispers; it’s so peaceful, laying there in the darkness with Eddie comforting him, that he immediately regrets breaking the silence. But as much as he wants to just sink into sleep, he wants to tell Eddie how much this means to him more. </p><p>Buck has his family, and he knows that any of them would have come over if he had asked them to, knows that if they had known he was sick, they would have come with medication and food and movies to watch with him. But he also knows that Eddie is the only one who would climb into the shower with him and rub his back as he coughed, knows that no one else would be sitting up in his bed playing with his hair in complete silence, content to just exist in that space with him. “Eddie,” he whispers again, but Eddie’s fingertips just trace a path from his temple to his lips, and he falls asleep with Eddie’s name on his tongue. </p><p>When he wakes up in the morning, Eddie’s still there. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“The whole long weekend,” Eddie says, leaning in and kissing him. “Christopher is supposed to be with his mom every other weekend but it usually doesn’t happen, so trust me, I’m surprised, too. If you’re too busy, though—”</p><p>“No, never,” Buck says, pulling him back and kissing him properly, opening his mouth and teasing his tongue between Eddie’s lips. He’d intended to go grocery shopping before starting to grade the essays his kids had turned in the day before, but Eddie had shown up on his doorstep with a small smile and a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, straight from work, and Buck is powerless to the sight of him in his blue uniform. “Fuck, you look good in this,” he says. He pulls Eddie the rest of the way through the doorway and kicks the door closed behind him, pushing Eddie up against the wall and getting his hands on the belt buckle. </p><p>“Buck,” Eddie says, and his breath catches when Buck undoes the belt and leaves it hanging open, running his hands down Eddie’s thighs as he kisses his neck. He untucks the shirt and works his hands up until he finds the first button, unbuttoning it slowly. Eddie moves to shrug it off, and he stops him, grabs his wrists and pins them against the wall at his sides. </p><p>“Leave it on,” he says, sucking Eddie’s earlobe in between his lips and working his undershirt up. “I don’t know how you look so good after a 24 hour shift—”</p><p>“Jesus, if this is what this uniform inspires,” Eddie says, his hands squeezing Buck’s shoulders as Buck works his way down Eddie’s body, pressing his hands into every inch of skin and following them with his mouth, “I really need to show up here in my turnout.”</p><p>Buck’s mouth goes dry at the thought, and he sinks down onto his knees and looks up at Eddie. “If you liberate a pair of those red suspenders,” he says, rocking back onto his heels while he pops the button of Eddie’s pants open and pulls the zipper down, “I swear to God, Eddie, I’d do anything you asked.” </p><p>Eddie’s hand cups the back of his neck, thumb rubbing up into his hair. “Anything?”</p><p>He pulls Eddie’s hips away from the wall just enough to shove his pants down to his knees, wraps one hand around the back of Eddie’s thigh and looks up at him. “Anything,” he says. “Everything.” He puts his other hand on Eddie’s abs before he sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, traces the muscles underneath his fingers as Eddie rolls his hips and Buck tilts his head and lets him fuck his mouth slowly. </p><p>Eddie’s moan sends a shiver up Buck’s spine, heat pooling low in his belly, and he drops the hand on Eddie’s thigh and works his sweatpants down. “God, Buck,” Eddie says; when Buck looks up at him, he’s biting his lip. “Fuck, you’re so good at this, you <em>look</em> so good like this, God.”</p><p>Buck leans away when Eddie’s hips pull back and Eddie makes a noise of protest. “Tell me what you’d want,” he says; he’s dying to touch himself, his cock is heavy and aching, but Eddie’s voice praising him and encouraging him is nearly enough to send him over the edge. “I want to know.”</p><p>Eddie tugs on his hair, pulling him back, sighing when Buck opens his mouth and sucks the head of his cock in, rubbing his tongue on the underside before he relaxes and moves a hand to Eddie’s hip, urging him to keep going. “Oh, yeah, that’s—your mouth feels so good, baby. I—I want you to ride me,” he says, and his hips stutter as he moans. </p><p>It’s not what Buck would have thought—he’s done it before, plenty of times, but Eddie’s grip tightens in his hair and Buck realizes he wants to stay more but isn’t, for whatever reason. He hums around his cock and pulls Eddie into him, silently encouraging him to fuck his mouth harder, faster—whatever Eddie wants, whatever will make him feel good—and finally drops his other hand and wraps it around the head of his own cock, stroking himself in time with Eddie’s thrusts. </p><p>The sound Eddie makes when Buck moans is one he’ll be replaying in his head often. “I want to—I want a video,” Eddie says. “I want to watch you when I’m at home, I’m want to hear the sounds you make when I’m getting myself off—“</p><p>He pulls back again, takes his hand off himself to reach for the phone that had fallen out of Eddie’s pocket when he pulled his uniform pants down. “Do it,” he says, pressing it into his hand. “Take a video.” He takes Eddie back in his mouth and is only vaguely aware that Eddie’s fucking his mouth harder, his breath coming in gasps as Buck touches himself with increased urgency. </p><p>Eddie’s swallowing down the noises he usually makes, so Buck fills the silence, moaning and humming and just as he’s starting to feel his orgasm building, Eddie comes with a muffled groan, yanking on the back of his hair and forcing Buck to look up at the camera. </p><p>“Eddie,” he says, because he’s happy to play this game for Eddie, to give him something like this, to look up into his camera lens and bite his lip and slow his pace to put on a show. “Please, Eddie, fuck, <em>Eddie</em>.” Well, he tries to slow down, but the way Eddie is watching him is too much, and he fucks into his first until he comes with a gasp, keeping his eyes up the whole time. </p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says, and Buck’s being pulled up and kissed desperately a moment later. “Holy shit, I can’t—fuck, I can’t believe you just did that for me.” He runs his hands up and down Buck’s back for a moment and Buck sinks into him, trying to catch his breath. “Fuck, I don’t know if I can keep that—”</p><p>Buck snorts. “Alright, old man,” he teases. “There are apps you can download to password protect videos. I’ll show you how later.” He tilts his head and kisses Eddie, slow and soft, reveling in the feel of Eddie’s hand cupping his cheek. “And later tonight, we can make another one of those; you can just owe me a pair of suspenders.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Eddie walks so close to him at the farmer’s market that their arms brush together almost constantly, until after they stop by the coffee truck and Eddie finally wraps an arm around his waist, fingers slipping under Buck’s hoodie and resting on his warm skin.</p><p>They’ve been dating for three months, but this is the first time Buck’s gotten to wake up with Eddie in his bed that they don’t immediately have to say goodbye; he’d woken Eddie up that morning with a slow, lazy blow job, and Eddie had rolled him onto his back afterwards and said “careful, I’m never going to leave if this is my new alarm clock,” and Buck had to physically bite his tongue to keep himself from blurting out that he loved him.</p><p>“We could grab some of that curry and take it home for dinner tonight,” Eddie says, fingertips drumming against Buck’s skin to get his attention.</p><p><em>Home</em>, Buck thinks, and God, he wants it so badly with Eddie. He wants to see him every day, wants to fall into bed with him after a long night of lesson planning and grading, wants to wake up with Eddie wrapped around him, permanently cold foot pressed against his calves, wants to make plans to spend breaks and weekends together. </p><p>He’s not going to be able to stop himself from saying it for much longer.</p><p>“I wanted to cook for you,” he says idly, steering them towards a stand with vegetables stacked neatly, a riot of color. Eddie’s arm is around his waist as he picks a few things out that he knows he’ll use over the week: a rainbow bunch of carrots and squash to use in stir-fry, a carton of mushrooms. “I could make—”</p><p>“Buckaroo!”</p><p>He tenses—if he doesn’t turn around, Hen might think she was mistaken, might just move past, but—</p><p>“Hey, kid,” Chim says from behind them.</p><p>He turns, pulling Eddie around with him. “Hey, guys,” he says. He doesn’t look at Eddie when he moves away to hug Hen or when he steps backwards, keeping space in between them while motions towards his old team. “Uh, Eddie, this is Hen, Chimney, and Bobby.”</p><p>He finally catches a glimpse of Eddie’s confused expression when he reaches out to shake their hands. “Eddie Diaz,” he says, “Captain Nash, I’m not sure if you remember—”</p><p>“I do,” Bobby says, looking amused. “Station 6, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“136 now,” Eddie says. “There were some—issues. I ended up being transferred a few months into my probationary period. But Coop’s a good captain, I’m pretty happy there. I’ve got a great team.”</p><p>“Eddie almost joined us,” Bobby says, glancing over at Hen before his gaze lands back on Buck. “If I had known Buck would have swayed you, I would have brought him along to the academy with me. He never did get along with Corbett.”</p><p>“No one got along with Corbett, Cap. To think, we could have been subjected all these years to the neausiating cuteness these two had going on before we startled poor Buck,” Hen says, shaking her head and glancing at her watch. “We should head back, it’s almost shift change. Buck,” she says, “dinner Friday night. Eddie’s welcome to join us if you’d like, but Karen’s dying to see you and no is not an option.”</p><p>He nods, the only thing he can do when his brain is busy spiraling backwards in time and working out a new life for him, one where he had walked into the station one day only to see Eddie standing there, grinning at him. He wonders if it was while he was still dating Abby or after she left, if he would have fallen for Eddie just as quickly, if he would have even been on the damn truck when it blew up.</p><p>“So,” Eddie says after they leave, “the 118, huh? Guess I should have joined up after all, could have convinced you to stay.”</p><p>Buck snorts reflexively; his desire to stay had never been the issue. He tries to calm his racing heart while he pays for the vegetables in his hands, accepting the bag back before taking Eddie by the elbow and leading him out of the mess of tents and around a quiet corner. “C’mere,” he says, pulling him close and kissing him, working Eddie’s mouth open with his tongue. “Just give me a moment.”</p><p>Eddie’s hands bracket his waist as he kisses him back, wrap around to the small of his back as they rest against each other in the weak November sun, and they stay there when Buck finally straightens up. “I didn’t want to stop,” he says. “I—I got hurt,” he settles on. There’s too much regret in his throat to say anything else. “I had a few surgeries, but they didn’t work as well as I hoped, and I could have stayed on as a fire marshal but watching people do the actual work was killing me, so I only did that for as long as it took to get my teaching certificate. I should have told you, and I swear I was going to, but—”</p><p>Eddie makes a small, involuntary noise, and Buck knows before he looks at him that he’s finally put ‘Evan Buckley’ and ‘118’ together. There’s a long, drawn out silence, and finally, Eddie steps backwards and grabs his hand. “Let’s go back to your place,” he says, and there’s no pity in his voice like Buck had been afraid to hear. “I’ll uh—I want to tell you about Afghanistan.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you do this every year,” Eddie groans, and Buck laughs and throws a hoodie at him. “Just buy it all on the internet, Buck, come back to bed.”</p><p>“It’s Black Friday, man, this is an American tradition,” Buck says. “Come on, we’ll stop and get some coffee, I’ll keep you warm in line—”</p><p>“You could keep me warm in bed,” Eddie says, but he sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Do I have time to shower?”</p><p>“Very quickly,” Buck says, looking at the clock. Getting up at 3:00am to go shopping might be silly—especially because he hardly ever actually buys anything that would make the whole thing worth it—but he loves the craziness of the day, the frenzy people get into. Eddie had looked flatly unamused when Buck had told him about it, but no amount of news articles about people being trampled or injured will change his mind.</p><p>They’re on their fourth store when Eddie demands a coffee break—“we just had some two hours ago,” Buck says, and relents when Eddie glares at him—and they find a cafe nearby with a few free tables, and when Buck comes back outside with breakfast sandwiches and coffee, Eddie sets his phone down and looks at him resolutely. “This sounds stupid no matter how I try to say it, so I’m just gonna—is this serious to you? Uh, us, me and you—do you see it going somewhere?”</p><p>He blinks. “I gave you a key to my house,” he says, because he doesn’t think that 6:00am on a day that Eddie’s already irritated with him is a good time to confess that he’s in love with him and thinks he has been for quite some time. “Yes? I—is it not to you?” He’d be surprised if Eddie <em>didn’t</em> think it was, honestly, they hardly go two hours without sending a text on days they can’t see each other, and more and more often Eddie has been finding little spaces of time to see Buck in the evenings, dropping by his place for just a little bit—just to kiss him breathless against the door for five minutes before he had to pick up his son on two separate occasions.</p><p>“No, yeah, it is,” Eddie says, reaching for the coffee. “I’ve just—I’ve been thinking that I’d like for you to meet Chris, but I don’t really know how to do this. I keep thinking I’m ready and then I talk myself out of it, and I think Lena’s getting tired of listening to me. Her last threat about kicking my ass didn’t really sound like she was joking anymore.”</p><p>“If you’re talking yourself out of it, it doesn’t sound like you’re ready,” Buck says. It doesn’t bother him; he’s done a lot of reading about dating single parents, and the general advice he’s seen ranges from six months to a year, and though they’re getting close to that, he hadn’t really thought Eddie would drag his son over on the six-month mark, anyway. Eddie’s still a fairly private person, and although he talks about a lot of people—his family, his coworkers—Buck has yet to meet any of them, and he’s not concerned about it. He’s avoided bringing Eddie to social events with his friends, too. It’s—nice, just to be the two of them. </p><p>“Lena thinks I should be,” Eddie says, and gives Buck a small, half-smile across the table. “You’re still okay with waiting?”</p><p>“Of course,” he says. He is, actually, dying to meet Christopher, if only to see how much like his father he is. “He’s your kid, though, Eds, you gotta do what’s best for him. Have you talked to Shannon about it?”</p><p>“No, and I won’t be,” Eddie says. “She doesn’t get to have an opinion about anything until she manages to see him regularly.” Buck tries not to make a face but clearly fails considering the look that Eddie gives him. Eddie’s assertion that he and his ex-wife co-parent—well, Buck’s never believed it and Eddie knows it.</p><p>He shrugs. “Don’t stress about it so much, Eddie. We’re good.”</p><p>“We’d be better if we were still in bed,” Eddie says, and Buck laughs. “So there was one other thing,” Eddie admits. “We’re doing Thanksgiving dinner again at the station tomorrow night and I was wondering if you’d like to come.”</p><p><em>Yes</em> is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back. “Are you just asking because you feel bad that you’re not ready for me to meet your kid?” It’s an Eddie thing to do, he thinks, to offer something he’s <em>more</em> ready for but still doesn’t really want to make up for a perceived slight. “Because—yeah, I’d like to, but if that’s still—”</p><p>“No, I want you to meet them,” Eddie says, smiling over at him. “That’s—I’m ready for that. Just don’t listen to a single thing Lena has to say, okay? It’s all either flat out lies or an exaggeration.”</p><p>“Oh, sure,” he says, grinning. “I won’t believe a single word.”</p><p>Eddie throws a packet of sugar at him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Ana,” he says, “can you please just tell me if you like purple or green better?”</p><p>“I don’t like whatever it is you’re trying to choose from,” she says, and he sighs. “Buck, I told you before, gift cards, gift cards are <em>great</em>.”</p><p>“I’m not getting you a gift card for Christmas,” he says, setting the necklace down and reaching for a pair of earrings. “Wait, are your ears pierced?”</p><p>“No,” she says, and he narrows his eyes and adjusts the phone between his cheek and shoulder. He is at least ninety percent sure she’s lying, but he’s going to look like an idiot if he buys her earrings she can’t wear. “If I send you a list of books I want to read, would you just choose one of those? I adore you, Buck, but l have to be honest, I’ve never once worn that scarf you got me last year.”</p><p>“Fine, send the list,” he says. He’ll just get her a book <em>and</em> something else. “Oh, can I text you this picture of a shirt I want to get Maddie?”</p><p>“Of course,” she says. “You’re still coming over tomorrow, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says. </p><p>He texts her the picture and waits until she approves before taking it up to the register along with a sweater he’d found for Chim, and by the time he’s checked out, adding another bag to the ones already looped around his wrist, she’s texted him the list of books and he heads straight to the bookstore.</p><p>He’s crouched in the middle of the historical fiction section, eyeing the differences between two different books that look the exact same to him when he hears a familiar voice calling his name behind him and he looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Chris,” he says, grinning. “How you doing, buddy?”</p><p>“Good, my dad’s looking for a present for his boyfriend,” Chris says, “and he won’t get me the book I want because he says Santa might bring it.”</p><p>“Well, he’s right,” Buck says, mentally filing away the boyfriend comment to relay to Ana later. “And then you’d have two copies, which would be silly.”</p><p>“I guess,” Chris says, “but I really want to read it now.” He looks over Buck’s shoulder and grins. “Hi, Dad.”</p><p>Buck stands up—he’s been dying to meet Chris’ dad since Ana mentioned him and it’s been a little ridiculous how he keeps missing him by minutes at school—and when he turns around, his heart stops. </p><p>Ana was right, he thinks semi-hysterically, Eddie <em>does</em> take his breath away. </p><p>“Buck?” Eddie says, looking between him and Chris. “Uh—what—”</p><p>Buck glances at Chris and back to Eddie, a slow horror growing in his chest. “Hey,” he says; his voice comes out cracked, too stressed—</p><p>“Buck?” Chris says, furrowing his brow, and to his credit, he puts it together faster than Eddie does. “Wait, is Mr. B your <em>boyfriend</em>?”</p><p>Eddie’s mouth drops open. “You—you teach at his school?”</p><p>“Eddie,” he says, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it can probably be seen through his shirt, “I had <em>no clue</em>, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t know, I kept wanting to meet you because—” he stops short and can’t help but start to laugh. “Oh my <em>God</em>, I told Ana to ask you out and she said you were dating someone and I told her—”</p><p>“I’m gonna tell <em>everyone</em>,” Chris says happily. “Kevin’s going to be so jealous, Mr. B, he said you liked him better because he's in your class but you’re dating my dad!”</p><p>Eddie’s still staring at him. “This is a problem, isn’t it?” </p><p>“I think—maybe,” he says, helplessly. He needs to leave, needs to merge <em>Eddie</em> with <em>Chris’ dad</em> in his head, needs to call Ana immediately and beg her to talk him off the mental cliff he’s standing on, her words from last year ringing in his head: <em>he’s a parent, that’s breaking a million boundaries</em>. He stands up and shifts the books to one hand, reaching out to squeeze Christopher’s shoulder automatically before stopping and forcibly moving his hand back to his side. “I need to go,” he says. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, buddy, and uh, Eddie—” he stops and looks at him. “I’ll just—text you,” he says, and walks away before Eddie can respond.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s just a few hours later that Buck looks up from his spot on the couch, where he’s frantically texting Ana for advice, a running monologue in her messages that she hasn’t yet responded to, and watches Eddie walk through his front door. “Eddie,” he says, and Eddie shakes his head. </p><p>“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks. “Buck, I know—it’s going to change. I get that. But I’d like to take you out first, just—one more time, in case—fuck, I’m not doing this right.” He’s still standing by the door, looking a little panicked, and Buck feels his heart break a little. </p><p>“We can stay in,” he offers. If Eddie’s willing to set aside the glaring issue for one more night, Buck can too—he’s already been dating the guy for months, he doesn’t see how one more date is going to make things worse. </p><p>“No, I want to take you somewhere,” Eddie says. “If it's our last date for a while, let’s make it count.”</p><p>It’s easily the most miserable date of his life; they’re both quiet on the way to the beach, most of their time spent making small talk, more awkward than they’ve ever been together, and finally Eddie sighs and lays back on the blanket had they spread out on the sand. “You’re—this is over, isn’t it? You’re going to—” he stops and looks over at Buck, like he can’t manage to get the words out. </p><p>His throat burns; he has to swallow a few times before he nods. “I think,” he says, “it’s just—I work with Chris, Eddie. He’s in my reading groups, I can’t change that, and our code of conduct—it’s strict.”</p><p>“He loves you, you know,” Eddie says, reaching for his hand and tangling their fingers together. “It’s Mr. B this and Mr. B that. He’s always got a list of books to get from the library that you think he would like.”</p><p>“He’s a really great kid,” Buck says, and to his dismay he feels tears welling in the corner of his eyes. “I swear I didn’t know you were his dad, I really didn’t—”</p><p>“Trust me, I don’t think you could have faked the look on your face when you saw me in the bookstore,” Eddie says. “It’ll be funny once Chris is in middle school and we can get back together.”</p><p>He thinks he stops breathing. “What?”</p><p>“That’s—” Eddie frowns at him. “I understand that you can’t be in a relationship with a parent, but he won’t be your student forever, so—” he pulls his hand away and sits up, and Buck’s still busy trying to process <em>it’ll be funny</em> and can hardly keep up with what Eddie’s saying. “You said this was serious,” Eddie says, with the same tone of voice that Buck regularly uses on his students when they pretend they have no clue what he’s talking about. “That doesn’t have to change, does it?”</p><p>“It’s seven months from now,” Buck says. “That’s longer than we’ve even been together, I don’t—I can’t ask you to wait that long.”</p><p>Eddie shrugs. “I didn’t hear you ask anything,” he says. “Frankly, I’m offended.”</p><p>Buck stares at him. “I don’t know what’s happening right now,” he says. “I don’t—you don’t have to wait, Eddie, I—if you’re still single, yes, I—we can plan a date right now for June 21st, but I’m not going to hold you to that—”</p><p>“Alright,” Eddie says. “Hey, maybe we could go to a baseball game, you can meet my son.” He grins over at Buck and nudges him with his shoulder. “Look—this sucks. If it hadn’t been so hard to get him into the school I would honestly be tempted to pull him out, but if all I have to do is wait a few months, that’s not so bad, I can manage that. Can we still hang out? Or text?”</p><p>“I don’t text families,” Buck says. “I’m not allowed. But I could email you—about Chris, of course—and—I don’t know, there are school events? There’s the concert when we get back in January, and you know we have a morning donuts thing every month, and there’s other stuff, I have it all in my calendar. Maybe if Chris asked for a list I could give him one.”</p><p>“This is the weirdest flirting I’ve ever done,” Eddie says, laughing. “You gonna turn me down if I ask to spend the night one more time?”</p><p>“No,” he says. “Besides, I still owe you a video.”</p><p>They stay on the beach for a few hours longer, eating pizza delivered by a very confused teenager until the sun sets, and when they finally pack up and leave Eddie holds his hand in the car and pulls him into bed the second the front door closes behind them. “I want you to fuck me,” he murmurs against Buck’s lips.</p><p>“Thought you wanted me to ride you,” Buck says, pushing him back enough to pull his shirt over his head and then get his hands on Eddie’s.</p><p>“Changed my mind,” Eddie says, and pushes him onto his back. “Maybe it’s my turn.”</p><p>“I should have told you this before we broke up,” Eddie whispers against the back of his neck later, wrapped around Buck like a parenthesis, fingertips stroking up and down Buck’s stomach slowly, “but I love you.”</p><p>“We’re not broken up until morning,” Buck says, sleepily. “I love you, too.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Mr. B,” Chris says, and Buck looks over his shoulder and smiles. “My Dad’s coming, we brought you coffee. But he said you weren’t boyfriends anymore, and that I shouldn’t tell everybody you were, so I won’t, I promise. Not even other teachers.”</p><p>Buck presses his lips together and tries not to laugh. It’s been two hours since their—temporary—break-up, and Eddie’s apparently already found an excuse to come by the school. “Thanks, buddy,” he says. “What are you doing here so early?”</p><p>“Dad’s going to help in my classroom,” Chris says. “He’s asking Mrs. Fisher if he can come on Wednesdays after break.”</p><p>“Every Wednesday?” Buck asks just as Eddie walks into the room. “Interesting. Can’t imagine what makes you want to volunteer weekly all of the sudden.”</p><p>“Call it an interest in my son’s education,” Eddie says, and when he smiles his eyes crinkle at the corner, and Buck’s heart jumps. </p><p>“Good thing to have,” he says, reaching to accept the cup Eddie’s holding out for him. “Thanks for the coffee, Mr. Diaz.”</p><p>Eddie’s grin widens. “You’re welcome, Mr. Buckley,” he says, rubbing his thumb against Buck’s for a moment before letting go. “I gotta take off, I have a shift to get to. But, uh, I hear there’s this concert in the park on Christmas Eve—”</p><p>“He’s busy,” Ana says from the doorway, and Buck cringes. </p><p>“Sorry,” he says quietly. “Thanks, though.”</p><p>“Mr. Diaz,” Ana says, stepping into the room and nodding. “I hope you’re doing well?”</p><p>“Just fine, Ms. Flores,” he says, smiling at her as he steps away from Buck and reaches for Chris, kissing the top of his head. “Have a good day, kiddo. Merry Christmas, Mr. Buckley, Ms. Flores. Have a good break.”</p><p>Buck waits until Christopher leaves out the back door to go to the playground to look over at Ana. “I can go to a concert—”</p><p>“No, you can’t,” she says gently. “Buck, an hour ago you told me that you two broke up. That doesn’t mean you should sneak around, because you know you’ll get caught somehow, and all of this until now—you didn’t know he was a parent. That’s fine. I’ll back you up on that, and I’m sure Eddie will, too. But now you know, and you <em>have</em> to be professional. Don’t lose your job for him.”</p><p>“I hate it that you’re right,” he says. “I’ve spent every free minute of the last five months talking to him. Ana. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”</p><p>“You’ll survive,” she says. “If you want, we can make a paper chain so you can count down to the last day of school.”</p><p>“Ha, ha,” he says, but the ache in his chest tells him he might actually want one—just not until the length wouldn’t be so daunting.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The only thing missing is the snow.</p><p>Bobby and Athena’s house is packed; sliding door open to the patio to accommodate all the extra people, both the indoor and outdoor tables laden with food. There’s sparkling wine, eggnog, hot chocolate, stacks of presents around the tree, spilling over the floor to the fireplace, a riot of red and green, mistletoe hanging from the doorways—it’s everything Buck loves about Christmas, and he’s absolutely miserable. </p><p>It’s been five days since he’d kissed Eddie goodbye and started his 186 day countdown to the next time they could really be together, and he’s managed to get through them on sheer force of will and throwing himself into work; the week before break is always hectic but fun, and he’d tried not to let any of his unhappiness follow him into the classroom. The second the bell rang, though, he was on his way home to throw himself into bed, pull the covers over his head, and try to sleep all his extra time away. </p><p>He probably should have realized that he wouldn’t be able to make it through this party.</p><p>He’d escaped to the den almost as soon as he’d walked in the door, allowing Harry—who had thankfully been passing by as he walked down the stairs—to bring him into a Call of Duty competition, and he’s spent the last hour hiding from anyone who had known about Eddie so he wouldn’t have to talk about what happened. He’s still strongly considering pretending that nothing is wrong, but he’s pretty sure he’s not that great of an actor. </p><p>Staying with the kids works until Bobby calls everyone to come eat, and then he’s shuffled along with everybody else, piling food on his plate and trying to find a place to sit while he eats. He ends up near Maddie and asks about his niece before she has a chance to say anything, which buys him nearly an hour of stories and showing off pictures, and then he successfully manages to steer the conversation to calls the team has been out on lately, and he’d just thinking he might actually be able to walk out of the house without talking about it when they all exchange a look before Maddie clears her throat.</p><p>“I was hoping I’d be able to meet Eddie today,” she says. “Chim says he seems nice, but—is he working?”
</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, which is not technically a lie, because he’d invited Eddie two weeks ago and Eddie had been apologetic and offered to try to switch his shift, and then—</p><p>“Maybe we could all do something on Thursday,” Maddie says, glancing around for approval. “I think the skating rink will still be up, we could ice skate?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll have to ask if he’s working,” Buck says. He looks away; he feels like he hasn’t been able to breathe for the last five days, and it’s taking too much effort to be himself right now, to try to lie convincingly. It’s just nothing he wants to deal with—Maddie will side with Ana and only stress him out more, Hen will give him the same sad look she did when Abby left, and—he just can’t handle it yet. He needs more space, more time to come to terms with the sudden loss of Eddie’s warmth from his life before he admits he’s really gone.</p><p>“Okay, something’s happened,” Maddie says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Did you break up with him? Was he dating someone else? Is this another Ben thing where you fell in love in ten seconds and then someone else—”</p><p>He clenches his hands around the arm of the chair and grits his teeth; he’s never been great at relationships—okay, not that he’s had many—but his fragile heart threatens to shatter at the thought of falling out of love with Eddie—with Eddie falling out of love with <em>him</em>, the same constant ache he’s had for the last five days, the same creeping thought that seven months is certainly long enough for Eddie to find someone else and there would be nothing he could do about it.</p><p>“His son is one of the kids in my group,” he says. He tries to keep his tone even, doesn’t want to fall apart here, where he has nowhere to hide. “We can’t—I can’t date him. Right now. Not while I work with his kid.”</p><p>To his surprise, it’s Bobby that responds first, squeezing his shoulder. “That’s not an easy situation,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”</p><p>It doesn’t make him feel better. He manages to leave soon after that, finds himself driving past the beach he and Eddie had gone to for their last date and has to talk himself out of texting Maddie and telling her he won’t be able to make it in the morning for Christmas, despite feeling like all he wants to do is crawl into bed and not get out until he has to go back to work. He intends to go straight upstairs when he gets home, but the kitchen light is on, so he detours to turn it off and stops.</p><p>There’s a wrapped gift on his counter with a folded piece of paper beside it, and he stares at it for a long minute before picking it up.</p><p>
  <em>Buck—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Chris and I spent all day making tamales with abuela for Christmas Eve, it’s one of our family’s traditions. We can do it together next year, but for now I left a bunch in your refrigerator, along with abuela’s hot chocolate. You said you and Maddie watch Home Alone and drink hot cocoa—Chris and I do the same, but with Polar Express. Maybe we’ll watch Home Alone this year, too, I don’t think he’s ever seen it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I put your key under your mat. I drove past your house twice the other day—your neighbors probably think I was casing the place—and I’m pretty sure if I keep it, I’ll end up coming over. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Merry Christmas.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eddie</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“No offense to your kid, who I am sure is an amazing talent,” Buck says from his spot on the wall, right next to Eddie, who snorts and shakes his head, “but this is honestly the <em>worst</em> night of my year.”</p><p>“No? Can’t think of anything that happened a few nights before Christmas that was worse?”</p><p>“Technically,” Buck says, grinning, “that was <em>last</em> year. But no. This is sheer torture.”</p><p>The back of Eddie’s hand brushes against his, and he stills himself, soaking in the warmth his body feels from just one point of contact. It’s been extraordinarily difficult to keep himself away from Eddie; he hadn’t managed to convince himself to delete his contact information, or to delete their text message thread, which meant that he’d read their entire history top to bottom three times over winter break, and the second school started again he’d thrown himself back into work. This is the first time he’s seen Eddie in a month, something he had been desperately looking forward to, but now that they’re here—all he wants to do is leave.</p><p>They still have six months of this to go. Six months of pretending he’s not desperately in love with Eddie, six months of trying to make his body stop craving his warmth, to stop lying awake in his bed until 2am, trying to think about anything other than Eddie’s voice, Eddie’s laughter, Eddie’s soft, gentle hands on him.</p><p>And he feels stuck, standing next to Eddie but not being able to touch him like he wants to, knowing that he’ll stand here until the auditorium lights come back on, wishing he could just walk away and forget about everything until June 21st.</p><p>The concert ends with a wildly off-key rendition of Let It Snow by their primary grades, and Buck lets out a sigh of relief when Eddie pushes off the wall and pulls his hand away. “Have a nice night, Mr. Buckley,” he says, and Buck really hopes the smile on his face isn’t as sad as the one Eddie gives him. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Chris appears in his classroom a few minutes after dismissal, looks between Buck and Ana for a moment, and hovers. “I need to tell you something, Mr. B,” he says, glancing at Ana again. </p><p>Buck furrows his brow, watching the way Chris keeps glancing around, eyes darting between Ana and the door. “What’s up, buddy?”</p><p>“Um,” Chris says. “Can I talk to you alone?” Ana rubs his arm on the way out of his room, and Chris twists around to watch her go. “I have something for you in my backpack,” he says, once Ana’s footsteps in the hallway have faded, shrugging his backpack off. “Dad said not to tell anyone else.”</p><p>Buck shakes his head and grins. “Ms. Flores knows about—that,” he says, “but I appreciate your discretion.”</p><p>Chris digs around in his backpack for a minute; when he pulls his hand out, there’s a baseball clutched in it, and he stares at it intensely for a moment. “Dad says—um—Dad says that it’s ninety feet at a time,” he says, frowning. “There was more but I forgot it. Sorry, Mr. B. But he wants you to have this.”</p><p>Buck holds it in his hand for a long time after Chris leaves, running his fingers over the stitching, rubbing his thumb against smooth cowhide, and closes his eyes, wishing for nothing more than to be back at Dodger Stadium again with the warm weight of Eddie’s arm around his shoulders for the first time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Time,” Kevin calls out.</p><p>Buck pauses in the middle of the equation he’s working out under the document camera. “Thumbs up if speeding through to check the final answer is okay,” he says, “thumbs down if we need to pick this back up after lunch.” He scans the room quickly and nods, finishing the problem and writing down the final answer. “Double check, then grab your exit ticket for today and get it done, you know the drill. No lining up until it’s turned in.”</p><p>He sits on the table in the front, glancing at their answers as they hand them to him and collect their lunches and cards, jostling for a spot in line by the door. There are still two kids working when the bell rings and he hops off the table and waves towards the door. “Alright, it’s January, you should be able to find the cafeteria on your own by now. Anyone who makes enough noise to be heard by another teacher who then complains to me will spend their next recess volunteering to feed Mrs. Christie’s rats.”</p><p>There’s a squeal of disgust from the group of girls clustered in the back as the line starts moving, and he grabs the book off his table and follows them out the door, pausing at the entrance to Diana’s room next door. Her students are lined up quietly, facing the front—probably exactly 12 inches apart, he thinks, squashing the urge to make a face. She’s a good teacher, but she’d be horrified by what he allowed in his classroom. “May I speak to Christopher?” he asks, and she nods. </p><p>Chris is near the back of the line, lunch bag clutched in his hand. “Hey buddy,” he says, and he can almost <em>hear</em> Diana frown. She calls students by their names, nothing more, and frequently makes comments about how he’s too familiar with his students, too much like their friend and not their teacher. Ana has spent the last month stressing to him that any <em>hint</em> of misconduct regarding Eddie would be seen and reported by Diana or the teachers like her, so he’s been careful—until now. But she’s already leading the kids out the door, so Buck continues. “Can I put this in your backpack for you? You left it yesterday. Looks kind of advanced for you, maybe you should have your dad read it first. If he has time this weekend or something.”</p><p>Chris looks between him and the book a few times, then, much to Buck’s delight, rolls his eyes. He’s always liked the sarcastic, sassier kids, and Chris is well on his way. “Sorry Mr. B, I just really like—cooking books?”</p><p>Buck grins, snagging Chris’ backpack from his cubby and opening it up, stashing the slim black book in the unused laptop pocket. “Poetry,” he corrects, and Chris gags. “Hey now,” he says, zipping the bag back up, “there’s some good stuff. Straight to your dad, okay?”</p><p>“I got it,” Chris says. </p><p>He’s taking a risk, but although he’d heavily underlined and annotated everything inside the covers, he hadn’t written his or Eddie’s name anywhere, and on the very slim chance someone finds it and ties it back to him, he has a young adult novel sitting on his desk with a startlingly similar cover, and he’s incredibly willing to pretend he grabbed the wrong one. </p><p>Eddie had told him—only after Buck took him to a reading—that poetry wasn’t his thing, and Buck is determined to prove him wrong. He’d made notes on every last page: underlining phrases that meant something to him, scrawling out personal stories in the blank space beside the typed words, doodling in the corners, covering every last inch of every page with himself—except for one. He’d left a single page intentionally blank, the only hint he had been there in the pale pink highlighter he had used to cover the words.</p><p>you might not have been my first love<br/>
but you were the love that made<br/>
all the other loves<br/>
irrelevant</p><p>He pauses by the door and kneels down, reaching out to squeeze Chris’ shoulder. “Can you tell him I said happy birthday?”</p><p>Chris nods, drops his voice to a whisper that Buck has to strain to hear. “I’ll give him a big hug from you,” he says. “Every single night. I promise.”</p><p>“You’re a good kid,” Buck says. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Buck skips Donuts with Dads—not that it matters, because Eddie’s leaning in his doorway five minutes after it starts, cup of iced coffee in his hand that he sets on the small table that holds Buck’s hall passes and sign-out book. “So I was feeling like shit over what I’m about to say,” he says, catching Buck’s eye, “but then you didn’t show up in the cafeteria, so I don’t anymore.”</p><p>“Please don’t,” Buck says quickly. Christ, he’s barely making it through the day as it is, school is the one place he can go that Eddie’s memory isn’t everywhere. If he has to stand in his own classroom while Eddie actually ends their relationship—he can’t handle that. “I’m sorry, if you really—maybe we can meet at Starbucks after school or something, just—not here.”</p><p>“That’s not—” Eddie stares at him, frowning. “No, Buck—Jesus. I meant what I said about the last day of school. It’s just that Christopher’s birthday is coming up and he’s always invited his teachers, so he has an invitation for you in his bag but—” he stops and takes a breath. “I’d like it if you would tell him you’re busy,” he finishes quietly. “Standing next to you for twenty minutes at the concert was hard enough, I don’t think I can handle you at my house for half the day.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” he says, nodding, and he goes to Ana’s room the second Eddie leaves, closing the door behind him and dropping into the chair next to her desk. “Maybe I should just quit,” he says with no preamble, laying his head down on the desk, pillowed in his folded arms. He manages not to cry until she runs her hand through his hair, her nails scratching the back of his neck, and he finally gives in to it and lets his tears fall while she makes soothing, quiet noises of reassurance. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Christopher is reading at Z, which is typically a 7th grade level,” Buck says, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the copy of Chris’ latest running record that he pushed across the table when Eddie and Shannon sat down. “He’s doing a really great job, I don’t have much to say, honestly. He’s inquisitive and curious, and he likes to keep me updated on what he’s reading, which is great. Whatever you’re doing at home, just keep it up.”</p><p>“Eddie reads with him every night,” Shannon says, and Buck watches involuntarily as she reaches over and rests a hand on Eddie’s thigh. </p><p>He can’t look at Eddie. </p><p>He looks at Shannon, instead, tries to see what features she has in common with Chris as he nods, anything to keep his head from spinning out of control. “Do you have any questions for me?”</p><p>“Yeah, actually,” Eddie says, and Buck bites down on his tongue before he looks over at him. “Chris says you have a classroom Facebook page, could you share that with me? Do you mind if I join?”</p><p>“Uh,” Buck says, “sure, I can email you the link—”</p><p>“Here, just find it and sign me up,” Eddie says, sliding his phone across the table. Buck picks it up and swipes up on the lock screen—for someone who used to claim he was tired of his coworkers breaking into his phone and changing everything, he really could benefit from using a passcode, Buck thinks—and stops. </p><p>His background is a picture of them, Eddie arms wrapped around his waist with his chin over Buck’s shoulder, the Santa Monica pier lit up behind them at night, one of the first dates they’d gone on. </p><p>“Mr. Diaz,” he says, flicking through the screen, “I can’t seem to find your Facebook app.”</p><p>“Huh,” Eddie says, grinning, “guess you can email the link after all. I’ll figure it out.” He leans back in the chair, and his foot bumps against Buck’s under the table.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go to Cabo again,” he says, throwing his arm around Ana’s shoulder and pulling her close. “Right now. We can crash a wedding and spend all day in that pool, god, it sounds so much better than being here. I hate everything about L.A.”</p><p>“You don’t hate me,” she says, pulling the basket of chips close, and he steals one from her hand and pops it in his mouth. “Evan Buckley, we need to teach you manners.” She tilts her phone up from the table for the fifth time since they’ve sat down and lets it fall again. “And I’d love to go back to Cabo, but my cousin’s rich husband paid for those hotel rooms. If you think we could afford it, especially on spring break, think again.”</p><p>“We’ll get the cheapest room and tell them it’s our honeymoon,” he says. “Or we can actually get married and go on a honeymoon.”</p><p>“You ask me to marry you so often that one of these days I’m going to say yes,” she teases.</p><p>“Good,” he says, reaching for his beer, “I’m lonely. We need to start on our fourteen kids, anyway.”</p><p>“Twelve,” she says. “And your boyfriend would be very upset to hear you say that.”</p><p>He sighs. “I haven’t even seen Eddie in a month,” he says. “I know that’s kind of the point, but we had conferences and he was with his ex-wife, and—” he cuts himself off. And then, he thinks, Eddie had shown up on his doorstep two weeks later, covered in sweat and ash, smelling of smoke with red-rimmed eyes, and he had wrapped himself around Buck without a word for nearly an hour before he got up and walked away.</p><p>Trying to figure out the reasoning behind that has been driving Buck insane.</p><p>“Don’t do that,” Ana says, hitting him in the chest with the back of her hand. “Don’t, Buck, you always spiral like this, it’s not good for you.”</p><p>He whines, rubbing at where she’d hit him. “Can you stop assaulting me? I’m already living a very sad life, you don’t need to add to it.”</p><p>She looks at her phone again, picks up her purse, and rummages around for a moment before pulling something out and handing it to him. “Go,” she says, elbowing him in the ribs, less than gently. </p><p>He stares at the hotel card in his hand. “Ana,” he says, “I don’t—”</p><p>“Do not offend me by pretending you don’t know what that is, <em>or</em> by assuming I will be joining you,” she says, sighing. “Happy late birthday, Buck. This is your present. Enjoy it, and do not let me hear a single word about it.”</p><p>“Just tell me,” he says, “I can’t walk up there thinking—”</p><p>“I’m not giving you a room for a night to be alone,” she says softly, leaning her head against his cheek. “I know how difficult this has been for you, and you’re most of the way there, so—go spend time with him.”</p><p>He kisses the top of her head and slides out of the booth; he hardly remembers walking out of the bar and across the lobby to the bank of elevators, watching the number on the display tick higher until the door opens to the top floor, the sound of his pulse pounding too loudly to hear his footfalls on the carpeted hallway. He taps the card against the reader and pushes the door open as soon as the light turns green, nearly falling into the room in his haste. </p><p>He’s not sure what he expects; desperation, maybe, a frantic dance to get clothes off and onto the bed, but Eddie’s mouth is gentle against his as he pulls them together, arm firm around Buck’s waist, his other hand warm around the back of his neck. “I missed you,” he says, “Jesus, I missed you.”</p><p>He pulls Buck back to the bed and Buck follows, straddling Eddie’s thighs when he sits down against the headboard, knees on either side of him. “I missed you, too,” Buck says, sinking down and wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. He feels content like this, happy to just soak in being close to Eddie, being allowed to touch him.</p><p>“So when we get back together,” Eddie says, and Buck grins against his shoulder, “will we have been dating for eleven months, or just five?”</p><p>He presses another kiss to Eddie’s shoulder and works his way up his neck, scraping his teeth against Eddie’s golden skin. “Does it matter?”</p><p>“Little bit,” Eddie says. He sounds breathless as Buck lets his hands creep around to his back, flexing his fingers against hard muscle, sucking a bruise into the curve of his neck. “Lena said I couldn’t ask you to move in if it was only five months.”</p><p>“Eleven,” Buck says. “It’s definitely, absolutely been eleven, and Lena doesn’t know shit.”</p><p>“I keep telling her that,” Eddie says. “You gotta stop doing this, I ordered pizza and it’ll be here any minute.”</p><p>“I’ll stop then,” Buck says, biting down. “Not a second before.”</p><p>“So is that a yes? About moving in?”</p><p>“Yes,” Buck says. He moves his hands to cup Eddie’s cheeks and kisses him, biting down on his lower lip before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, grinding his ass down at the same time, shuddering when Eddie moans in his mouth. Moving in with Eddie, having this all the time? “Absolutely, definitely, yes. God, Eddie, I love you, yes.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Two more papers and he can go home, he promises himself, flicking through the stack on his desk. He’d assumed, foolishly, that grading a fifth grader’s essay would be quick, back when he was in his certification program, and he can now confidently say he was an idiot. He pulls Claire’s out of the stack and sets it in front of him; his best writer, so it should be less painful than most. </p><p>The shrill ring of his phone breaks the silence and he jumps, blowing out a breath. It’s an hour past his contract time and he definitely would have thought all the secretaries would be gone, but apparently not. “Talk to me, Brenda,” he says, and he can almost hear her roll her eyes. </p><p>“Mr. Diaz is here to talk to you about Christopher,” she says. “I wasn’t aware you were staying for a meeting.”</p><p>“I wasn’t either, but you can send him down,” he says, trying not to sound too excited—or excited at all. A meeting with a parent an hour after school dismisses is not normally something he’s thrilled about. </p><p>He gives up focusing on the paper and leaves it on his desk—he’ll just get in a little early tomorrow to finish grading—and by the time Eddie’s standing in his doorway, hands in his pockets, he’s reset his desk for the next day and is wiping the whiteboard down. “Hey, Eds,” he says, and fuck is it good to see him. </p><p>“Hey,” Eddie says, and Buck feels the smile slide off his face at Eddie’s solemn tone. “I should have called, I’m sorry, I covered part of a shift today and it was pretty busy, but I need to talk to you about Chris.”</p><p>He sticks the eraser back on the board and turns around, hopping up to sit on a desk. He’s a good teacher, he can be professional, but he can’t help the way his foot jiggles nervously, waiting for Eddie to elaborate. “Sure thing, Mr. Diaz,” he says, and Eddie makes a face. “Why don’t you close the door?”</p><p>“I hope you realize that sounds like the beginning of very bad porn,” Eddie says, but closes the door and steps into the room. “Look, Buck—I get that eleven year olds aren’t the most reliable reporters, but he told me yesterday that he got in trouble in your class and you only punished him because we broke up and you’re mad about it, and the other kids didn’t get in trouble.”</p><p>He’s already dreading Ana’s reaction to this discussion; he’s going to guess it’ll be a combination of <em>I told you so</em> and <em>we have boundaries for a reason</em>. “I can’t disclose information about another student,” he says slowly, looking at Eddie carefully, watching the anger in his expression become evident, “but Chris brought his phone to reading group and was playing a game under the table instead of working, so he did have to spend part of his choice time in his own class doing the work.”</p><p>“He said he wasn’t the only one doing it,” Eddie says again, and Buck looks at him helplessly. </p><p>“I can’t talk about that,” he says. “I’m sure that’s frustrating and I apologize, but—you know I wouldn’t punish him for that, don’t you?”</p><p>“I don’t like to hear that he’s the only one getting in trouble for something other kids were doing,” Eddie says. “It doesn’t have anything to do with us breaking up, I know that. But it’s not fair to him if he’s being singled out.”</p><p>Fuck, he should have known something like this would happen. Chris is a great kid, but even great kids break the rules, and Buck can’t have eyes on everyone every second of the day. If the other kids had their phones out, they’d put them away pretty quickly once he’d taken Christopher’s. Of course, if he tells Eddie that—</p><p>He realizes, far too late to do anything about it, that if Eddie’s actually upset enough about this to pursue it, that he could very easily ruin Buck’s career. And it’s not that Buck thinks he would, but the sudden power imbalance weighs on him, presses on his chest. “If you’d like, we could talk to Christopher together—”</p><p>“Jesus, Buck, I just want to know that he’s not the only one getting in trouble for this shit!”</p><p>He thinks he might throw up. He hates confrontation, and he’s usually good at deescalating angry parents, but there isn’t anything left for him to say; all he’s got is what he would tell every other parent. “Mr. Diaz,” he says quietly, “I’m not sure this is going to be a productive conversation. If you believe that I’m not treating your student fairly, I encourage you to schedule a meeting with administration.”</p><p>Eddie looks at him for a long second and, without another word, turns around and walks out the door. </p><p>He’s sitting in his room with Ana the next morning, poking miserably at the stack of essays he definitely won’t finish and absolutely not panicking about Eddie not only breaking up with him for good but also telling his administrators that he’s unfairly punishing his child when Lena walks in the door and straight up to his desk, Eddie trailing after her and looking thoroughly chastised. </p><p>“Well, I’ll leave you two to kiss and make up,” Lena says brightly, and Buck tries not to panic as she looks past him and smiles at Ana. “Ms. Flores, isn’t it? You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee, would you? I had to kick someone’s ass this morning and—”</p><p>“Okay, you can go now,” Eddie says, cutting her off and motioning toward the door. “Bye. See you at work.”</p><p>“See you in the parking lot,” she shoots back. </p><p>Ana squeezes his arm as she walks past and he almost reaches out and pulls her back, wants to use her as a shield against whatever Eddie has to say. “It’s Ana, please,” she says to Lena, and Buck gets distracted from the gnawing feeling in his stomach by the way she giggles for just a moment. </p><p>“So it’s been pointed out that I was an asshole,” Eddie says, and Buck snaps his attention back towards him, watches as he shifts his weight uncomfortably. “I really didn’t think you’d punish him because of me, but I guess I am a little—sensitive. About how he’s treated. But it’s not an excuse for how I treated you and I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Lena tell you that?”</p><p>“Pretty much,” Eddie says, wincing. “She called me stupid a lot more, though. With some eye-rolling. That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry, though. You didn’t deserve that.”</p><p>Buck breathes out his relief; he wants to touch Eddie, to grab his hand or hug him, press him up against the wall and kiss him until he can’t breath—to <em>feel</em> that Eddie still loves him—but he settles on nodding and saying, “thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it.”</p><p>Eddie looks at him for a long moment before moving a chair towards the other side of Buck’s desk, turning it around and sitting down, arms folded loosely over the back. “Can I uh, talk to you about something? I know your job isn’t to give parenting advice—”</p><p>“It won’t be the first time I’ve been asked for that,” Buck says. He balls his hands into fists so he doesn’t reach out; Eddie’s hands are within reach and all he wants to do is touch him, to kiss the sad, uncertain look off his face and reassure him. “I’ll help if I can, but I don’t have kids, so you’re kind of the expert on parenting here.”</p><p>“If that’s the case, we’re definitely in trouble,” Eddie says. “I always thought Chris was this happy, open kid, you know? He’s like—the brightest thing in my life, always has been. And I don’t know if he’s just gotten more perceptive lately or I’m just doing a shit job of hiding what I’m feeling lately, but he’s gotten a lot more closed off and he won’t talk to me about stuff that’s really bothering him.”</p><p>“You think he’s picking up cues from you?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Eddie says, shrugging. “I wonder if he’s seeing that I don’t talk about how I’m feeling and he thinks that he has to hide his emotions from me.”</p><p>“You could try talking to him about the things he’ll understand and just tell him that with the other, bigger things, you talk to someone else about that,” Buck suggests. “Like Lena, or your sisters.”</p><p>“The thing is—” Eddie stops and looks over his shoulder at the open door before turning back; he picks up the baseball on Buck’s desk and turns it over in his hands, running his thumb over the raised red stitching. “I think he knows that I don’t. I tell them—stuff, you know? I tell them what’s happening. I never tell them how I feel about it. I did have someone who I trusted with all that stuff, but—I can’t talk to him about it anymore,” Eddie says. “And it’s like—I thought I could handle that. I was married while I was deployed and I figured it’d be a lot like that, you know, being able to see them but not touch, maybe you get a care package or two while you’re gone. I managed that, with Shannon. But I didn’t realize that I wouldn’t miss him like I missed Shannon—I miss him like I missed Christopher. And I’m doing a really bad job of handling that.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s waiting in line for the copier in the work room, adding the essential standards to his lesson plans that he’s done ahead of time, for once, when Ana comes by, closes his laptop, and drags him out of the room. </p><p>“I need—”</p><p>“You’ll live without whatever it was,” she says. “I need to talk to you.” She sounds serious—grim, almost—and it’s so unlike her that he gives up arguing immediately and follows her back into her classroom, closing the door behind them. She turns to face him and stares at him, and he just—waits. </p><p>“So this is strange,” he says a moment later. “I’ve seen you teach in front of the Secretary of Education without batting an eye—what’s got you so upset?”</p><p>“Kelsey—Lu’s mom, you know her? Second grader?—has been telling everyone who will listen that she’s going on a date with Eddie this weekend,” Ana says. “And I heard from the entire first grade team that they were making out in the orange grove—you know it’s not true, Buck, I really don’t think he’d do that—”</p><p>“He wouldn’t,” Buck says, grinning. “She asked him, yeah, last night at the art fair, and he told her that he wasn’t interested. It was pretty brutal, she kept trying to touch him and he kept dodging her. Dunno how the other rumor got started—”</p><p>Ana’s shoulders relax and she blows out a breath. “Honestly, I thought you were going to freak out,” she admits. “I wanted you to hear it from me and not anyone else.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t freak out—”</p><p>“Oh, please,” she says, pulling off her cardigan and tossing it onto her desk. “That is absolutely something you would do.” </p><p>“Okay, maybe if I hadn’t spent the entire night three steps away from him,” Buck says. He knows he’s insecure—he’s working on it, and if this had happened back in February, he probably would have spent a week panicking. “But we’ve only got a month and a half left, he wouldn’t give up on me now. He’s too stubborn for that. Besides, she’s not his—”</p><p>Ana looks over her shoulder and frowns, pausing with the date half written on her board. “What? Not his type?”</p><p>He slides off the desk and walks up to her, sweeping her hair over one shoulder and whistling low as he takes in the love bites that trail from the back of her neck down below her collar. “Someone had a good time last night,” he says. “I haven’t heard anything about a date, so—”</p><p>There’s a flush high on her cheeks as she whirls around, grabs the cardigan back off her desk and puts it on. “I went out for drinks after the art show,” she says, her normally calm, even voice sounding distinctly flustered. “It’s nothing.”</p><p>“You dated Eric for six weeks and never slept with him,” he says. “So either you’ve been keeping a boyfriend from me for months now, or you had a good old-fashioned one night stand and <em>didn’t </em>give me all the details immediately, which, as your best friend, is very hurtful.”</p><p>“How would I keep a boyfriend from you? We spend most of our time together.”</p><p>“Exactly,” he says, “so give me the details. What’s his name? Do you even know his name? What’d he look like? Was he as good in bed as—” Ana looks—mortified, and he stops. She’s never been as loose with the details as he is, but she’s always given him <em>some</em> information. “Hey, I’m sorry, if you—”</p><p>“You keep saying ‘he’,” she says, sinking down into a chair. “It—it wasn’t—”</p><p>He raises an eyebrow. She’s never mentioned women, but he’s never asked, so he tries not to show how surprised he is. “So you just picked up some random chick at a bar? Honestly, I’m a little impressed, and a lot jealous. Looks like a good time.”</p><p>Her gaze goes a little unfocused and she smiles, dreamy around the edges. “Yeah,” she says. “It was.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I’m dying,” Joely says, sticking out her bottom lip and blinking at him. “Mr. B, the food was <em>so gross</em> today and I swear I ate as much as I could, but I’m <em>so hungry</em>.”</p><p>He looks up from the mind-map on his table and raises an eyebrow. “Okay? You know where the snacks are, help yourself. I know we’re not out, I’m pretty sure I bought every granola bar and fruit snack the grocery store had in stock last week.”</p><p>“Yeah but,” Joely says, “you know when you just want something sweet?”</p><p>“Like the chocolate chip granola bars that are sitting in the snack box as we speak?” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, grinning. He knows what she’s angling for, but it’s more fun to feign confusion and watch her pull out her best puppy-dog eyes. </p><p>“Sort of,” she says, “but like—maybe chocolate chips in cookies and not granola bars.”</p><p>“Ohhh,” he says, nodding. “Kind of like the box of chocolate chip cookies you watched me carry into the room this morning.”</p><p>She puts her hands on the desk and leans in. “Exactly. See, we <em>know</em> they’re for us. We just haven’t figured out why you haven’t handed them out yet, because usually if you bring us treats you make us eat them in the lunch room so we don’t get crumbs all over the floor.”</p><p>“Maybe I’m just trusting you to be able to eat like humans for once,” he says—or maybe he’s waiting for Christopher to come in for reading group so he can give everyone a cookie, and then a bag of cookies to take home and share with their families. </p><p>Because it’s not favoritism if they <em>all</em> get them.</p><p>“I can’t believe you spent all weekend baking three hundred cookies just to give some to your boyfriend,” Ana says later, reaching into the bag he’d set aside for her. “Unbelievable.”</p><p>“I did <em>not</em>,” he says. “It’s National Chocolate Chip Day. We celebrated National Grilled Cheese Day last month, I just couldn’t—”</p><p>“Oh, stop lying,” Ana says. “<em>God</em>, Buck, these are amazing. I’m actually really envious of Eddie right now. You know how you keep saying we should get married? Go ahead and propose again, I’m ready to say yes.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He’s just drifting off to sleep when something touches his wrist; jerking awake, he sits straight up only to have hands wrap around his shoulders. Eddie’s sitting on the bed, eyes searching out Buck’s in the dim moonlight. He presses a hoodie into Buck’s hands and stands up, jerking his head towards the door before he walks out of the cabin quietly. </p><p>Technically, Buck is no longer responsible for the students. His duty time is the same as it is at school—it’s the chaperones that are in charge at night, and there are four of them in the cabin. </p><p>He shoves his feet into the shoes he’d left by the bed, breathes in the smell of Eddie as he pulls the hoodie over his head, and follows him out the door. </p><p>Eddie’s arm brushes against his as they walk away from the cabin and into the woods; he presses closer to him as sticks snap underneath their feet and eventually, they reach the lake. Eddie spreads a blanket out on the sand, and when Buck lays down next to him, Eddie takes his hand. </p><p>“I wasn’t going to let him come, you know,” Eddie says quietly. “That flyer you guys sent home—hiking, rock climbing, canoeing—I figured he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the other kids. I try, you know, and I know there’s gear but as he gets older he’s been less comfortable using it. I only let him come because I knew he’d be okay with you. I wish I could have been here the whole time.”</p><p>Buck squeezes his hand. He’d talked to the camp coordinators on Eddie’s behalf; parents are typically required to spend the entire time at camp, but with Eddie’s schedule, he could only manage one night. A few well-placed words about first responders and military veterans had convinced them to make an exception—not that he’d tell Eddie that. “We had a good time, but he really lit up when he saw you this morning,” he says. “Man, Eddie, I wish you could have seen him rock climbing. He had the biggest smile on his face.”</p><p>“You can text me the videos in fifteen days,” Eddie says. “Thanks for looking out for my kid, Buck.”</p><p>“I’d look out for any of them,” he says. “I mean, I appreciate the thank you, but I’m just doing my job.”</p><p>They fall silent and Buck shuffles closer to him, pressing them together at the shoulders and thighs; Eddie picks up their joined hands and rests them on his stomach, thumb stroking across Buck’s knuckles slowly. “You busy on the 21st?”</p><p>“Have a date,” Buck says quietly. “We’re going to a baseball game. I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time.”</p><p>“Yeah? Anyone I know?”</p><p>He squeezes Eddie’s hand and rolls his head to look over at him. Eddie’s features look softer in the moonlight; he wants to relearn them by touch, to be able to close his eyes and map them out with confidence, wants to run his fingers across Eddie’s lips and feel breath across his skin. “Just this guy I’ve been in love with for awhile,” he says. “Gonna move in with him soon.”</p><p>Eddie’s gaze tracks over his face and his smile looks the way Buck feels—peaceful, and wildly in love. “You know,” he says, “you should probably only move in with him if you’re planning on marrying him one day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. B?”</p><p>“Come on in, Chris,” Buck says, lifting the last desk and flipping it on top of the growing stack. “What’s up, buddy? Got your yearbook for me to sign?”</p><p>“Yep,” Chris says, handing it over along with an envelope and a cup of iced coffee. “We’re having a barbecue tomorrow and my dad says you can come,” he says. “You want to?”</p><p>There’s no appropriate way to tell Chris how badly he’s been wanting the last day of school to come this year for that exact reason, so he settles on saying, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”</p><p>“Cool,” Chris says, grinning. “Dad told me a secret but I’m not allowed to say it at school.”</p><p>Buck finishes signing his name to Chris’ book with a flourish and hands it back, mouth falling open. “That’s rude to tease me,” he says. “Well, I have a secret, too, and I’m not telling you either.”</p><p>“I bet it’s the same one,” Chris whispers, and he laughs. “Bye, Mr. B. I need to go find Ms. Flores and invite her, too. See you later!”</p><p>The last day of school is always short—more of an excuse to sign yearbooks and say goodbye than anything else; the kids are out by noon, and despite staff technically needing to stay until their normal dismissal, they’re always allowed to leave after they get their classroom checklist signed off. Buck plays in the student-staff basketball game, throwing his shots wildly to the amusement of the students, and spends the rest of the day laying out on the field and supervising the kids while they blow bubbles and throw frisbees. There’s a scramble for the busses at the end of the day and he leans against the fence and waves until the last one is out of sight, closes up his classroom for the last time, and drops off his checklist in the office. </p><p>Christopher is sitting on the hood of his Jeep in the staff parking lot, Eddie leaning beside him, glowing golden in the sun. “Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, grinning. “This is Chris, my son.”</p><p>“God, you’re a dork,” Buck says, and he steps easily into Eddie's hug before leaning against him. “I can’t believe I actually missed you.”</p><p>“Can’t get rid of me now,” Eddie says. “So, I’ve got these baseball tickets in my pocket—Chris, what do you say, want to hang out with me and Buck today?”</p><p>“Do I get to call you Buck?” Chris asks, looking at him. “Because Kevin will <em>totally</em> be jealous.”</p><p>“Sure, you can call me Buck now,” he says. “And—sorry about this, Chris—but I’m <em>totally</em> gonna kiss your dad now.” </p><p>“Finally,” Eddie says, grinning. He reaches over and helps Chris slide off the hood. “Go get in the truck, buddy,” he says, “I’ll be right there.”</p><p>Buck kisses him the second he hears the truck door close, pulling him close and breathing him in. “God, I <em>really</em> missed you, Eddie. Please tell me we’ll get some time alone tonight—not that I don’t love Chris, but—”</p><p>“Oh no, that kid’s going to his abuela’s tonight,” Eddie says against his mouth. “I thought we’d drop him off after the game and head back to your place, and you can start moving your stuff over in the morning.” He kisses him once more before pulling back and grinning. “I texted you our address. See you at home, Buck.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He laughs into Eddie’s mouth, hands on his hips, not trying very hard to push him away. “Eddie, we have all weekend,” he says, turning his head. “Come on, don’t you want—”</p><p>“To make up for the last seven months? Absolutely,” Eddie says. “Come on, they won’t miss us.”</p><p>He doesn’t have it in him to argue—Eddie’s not the only one who has been taking advantage of being able to touch each other again; Buck had fallen asleep wrapped around Eddie, had woken up to Eddie grinding against him, burned breakfast when he’d lost track of time with his tongue in Eddie’s mouth, and had made them twenty minutes late to Eddie’s own barbecue after Eddie had pulled a pair of red suspenders out of his duffle bag and winked. </p><p>Eddie had said <em>later</em>, but he hadn’t protested when Buck had used them to bind his wrists before pushing him up against the wall and unzipping his pants. </p><p>But now the house is full of people: Christopher’s friends and their parents, members of the 136 and 118—Buck had been surprised to see Chim and Maddie walk in the door, followed by the rest of the group, and Eddie begrudgingly admitted that it had been Lena’s idea to invite them—and Buck is trying to keep his hands and mouth to himself. </p><p>Eddie has other ideas. </p><p>“Five minutes,” he says, “and then you have to talk to other people for an hour.”</p><p>“Sure, five minutes,” Eddie says, reaching for the doorknob behind him. “Whatever you say.”</p><p>Buck steps forward when the door swings open, catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and stops, hands still gripping Eddie’s hips tightly. </p><p>The laundry room is already occupied; Ana’s sitting on top of the washer, legs wrapped around Lena’s waist—he can see the bottom of her bra peeking out from where Lena has her hands shoved up Ana’s shirt, mouth busy working at her neck while Ana’s hands pull at her hair. </p><p>Before Buck can move, Lena looks over at them. “In or out, Diaz, just close the damn door.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, can you go to Chris’ conferences tonight?” </p><p>Eddie’s breathless over the phone, and Buck sighs, shifting the phone between his shoulder and cheek while he packs up his bag. “Eddie.”</p><p>“I know it probably <em>seems</em> like I’m just trying to get out of it—”</p><p>“Aren’t you?” </p><p>“Not enough to set this warehouse on fire,” Eddie says. “But you know you can cut through that teacher bullshit better than I do. Can you call and reschedule for me, though? Coop only gave me a few minutes, I gotta get back over there.”</p><p>“I’ll go,” he says. “Be safe.”</p><p>“Always am, gotta get home to my guys,” Eddie says. “And I really don’t want to have my eyebrows singed off on those engagement photos my sister is insisting we do.”</p><p>“I didn’t hear you complaining about it when Lena promised to steal the fire truck for a backdrop,” Buck says, shaking his head. “Go. Love you.”</p><p>“Love you,” Eddie says.</p><p>He detours to Ana’s room on his way out, leaning against the doorway while she wraps up a conversation on the phone—rolling her eyes while sounding perfectly charming and polite to whichever parent is talking. She makes a face after hanging up and motions for him to leave. “Quick, before it rings again, go,” she says, shouldering her bag and pushing her chair in. “God, it’s endless. Why do they bother signing up for a conference time if they’re just going to call and change it?”</p><p>“Just stop answering,” Buck says. “They’ll call the office and Brenda will schedule it for you.”</p><p>“This is why Brenda doesn’t like you,” Ana says, bumping him with her hip.</p><p>“She loves me,” he says. “I bring her coffee. Hey, I know you had a date planned tonight but Eddie said they’re at a warehouse fire, so you wanna come with me to Chris’ conference and then get dinner? You can torture me by making me look at all four hundred dresses you’re considering for the wedding again.”</p><p>“There were five, I already narrowed it down to three, and yes, I would love to come see the confused look on all the teacher’s faces when Christopher’s dad’s boyfriend comes in with some random woman they’ve never heard of for a conference.”</p><p>“<em>Fiance</em>,” he says, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “And you’ll look great in all of those dresses. You just wanna look good when you walk down the aisle with your girlfriend, we know what this is about.”</p><p>“You keep saying ‘when you walk down the aisle’ like we’re the ones getting married instead of just standing up for you,” Ana says. “But I’m sorry, because I will be prettier than you at your own wedding.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says. “Come on, I’ll drive, I can drop you back off after dinner.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Someone’s popular tonight,” Buck says as Eddie’s phone buzzes on the counter again. “Did we have plans we forgot about? Oh, shit, do you think Maddie’s in labor? I missed the first one, she’ll kill me if I’m not there for the second, I promised I would be.”</p><p>Eddie gives him a panicked look and, holding both hands up—coated in egg and breadcrumbs—bumps the phone with his elbow until the screen lights up. “Uh, no, I don’t know this number, and it’s definitely not Maddie. Must be a wrong number. I’ll text them back when we’re done.”</p><p>“Dad,” Chris calls from the living room, “I’m <em>so</em> hungry. Can’t we just order pizza?”</p><p>“Give it a rest, it’s 4:00pm,” Eddie calls back. “God, I’m going to need a second job if he keeps eating this much. These will be done soon, right?”</p><p>“You have to actually <em>make</em> them for them to be done, Eds,” Buck says, glancing at the empty sheet pan that’s supposed to be full of meatballs. “You wanted homemade pasta, I’m doing my part, I don’t know what more you want from me.” He pauses from where he’s rolling out pasta dough and looks over. “Oh, no,” he says. “This is just a ploy to get me to do all the work, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie says, pressing his hands back into the bowl and making a face. “Okay, nevermind, I fucking hate this. Please switch me.”</p><p>“I told you to use a fork,” Buck says, but he nods towards the sink and Eddie looks relieved. “You remember how to use the pasta roller?”</p><p>“Yes, Buck,” Eddie says, scrubbing his hands under the water, “I know how to turn a crank. Jesus.” His phone buzzes again and Buck shakes his head as he takes over squishing the meatball mixture together—with a fork, because he’s not an idiot. “Nice to know you trust—whoa,” he says, and when Buck looks at him, his eyebrows are raised nearly to his hairline. </p><p>He tilts his head to look at the phone screen. “Uh,” he says, catching a glimpse of the picture and grabbing the phone, “who’s sending you dick pics and asking if you’re busy, Eddie?”</p><p>“I have no clue,” Eddie says, sounding baffled. “Just block it. Buck, stop—what are you—”</p><p>He holds the phone out to Eddie. “It’s Ben,” he says, tapping at the screen, “look, he had a scar right there, remember?”</p><p>Eddie squints at him. “Not really,” he says. “I didn’t—it was one time in the bathroom of a bar, Buck, I—”</p><p>“Edmundo Diaz,” he says, clutching his heart, “yet when I, your <em>husband</em>—”</p><p>“<em>We</em> were sober and had a perfectly good hotel room,” Eddie says. “Get me drunk and we’ll talk. Just block his number.”</p><p>“Better idea,” Buck says. He taps on the camera icon and flicks through Eddie’s photos until he finds one from their wedding and sends it, then brings up the keyboard. </p><p><em>Sorry</em>, he types, <em>busy for the rest of my life.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can inspire me with TikToks at <a href="http://hearteyesforbuck.tumblr.com">hearteyesforbuck</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>